Falling In Love, Again
by sienna27
Summary: The Girl'verse Rebooted: This isn't a spinoff of Girl, it's a whole new interpretation. Hotch & Emily meet, not at her mother's, but 2 yrs earlier in a bank. Everything changes from there. Starts friendship, eventual romance.
1. Girl Meets Boy In A Bank

**Author's Note**: A new Girl universe! But it's actually a whole new world so it's not getting an alpha assignment. It's not spinning off of anything. It's starting two years BEFORE Girl did. I'll explain at the end how this verse came to be and where it's going in the future.

If you don't know the Girl'verse, doesn't matter, you don't need to know anything to read this. I just bring it up so you'll be aware that the Girl'verse is kind of become an entity unto itself in my little writing world. It was built as much off of real canon as much was possible when I began posting back in '08, but with the way the show teaspoons out personal life info (and occasionally contradicts itself), some background items changed along the way. Like Emily's whole Interpol history didn't exist for years so that doesn't exist in this world. Basically as it goes with the life factoids, just please go with what you read :)

**Things to know for this AU:** We're in the _way_ back machine. It is May 1993, and by Girl Canon (which still holds for most points), Hotch is turning 30 in this tale. This whole story came about from this "Aaron's 30th birthday" prompt, and real canon fairly well establishes that date as May 5th. That was the Mexico episode early in the series. Here he is still pre-FBI, married to Haley and working at the U.S. Attorney's Office.

Emily is 22 here, single and she's home for the week before finals begin.

Enter Hotch, or Aaron. He'd still be Aaron back in '93. And going so far back, this Aaron would not be not so heavy hearted or serious as in later days.

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

* * *

><p><strong>Bonus Challenge #35<strong>

Show: The Big Party Plan Off

Title Challenge: Aaron's 30th Birthday

**Prompt Set #23 (October)**

Show: The Days & Nights of Molly Dodd

Title Challenge: Here's Why You Should Never Wear High Heels to the Bank

* * *

><p><strong>Girl Meets Boy In A Bank<strong>

Aaron stopped for a moment in front of the revolving door of the bank. There he took a second to slip off his much needed sunglasses . . . the day was ridiculously bright and sunny, blindingly so . . . and tuck them into the front pocket of his dress shirt. Then he took a breath and quickly stepped into the rotating frame that was going by just in front of him.

A second later he found himself inside the cavernous space that was the Bank of America situated in what was essentially the middle of Lafayette Park. Though the bank was a few . . . all right, six . . . blocks out of his way, Aaron always preferred to go to this branch rather than the ones closer to his office over at the DOJ.

This one was surrounded by Secret Service guard posts.

And Aaron was of the mindset that . . . for that fairly _obvious_ reason . . . statistically it was probably the safest bank in the city.

He hoped so anyway.

Today especially. Because today . . . he slipped his hand into his pants pocket to pull out his wallet . . . he had a rather sizable check to deposit.

Fifteen THOUSAND dollars!

_That_ was a new one for him. But earlier that morning he'd received a birthday FedEx from his mother. At first the contents of the package had seemed fairly routine. The requisite . . . expected . . . 'HAPPY 30th' birthday card complete with multiple exclamation points (both on the cover and handwritten inside), a new Izod shirt in dark blue (his favorite color) and a container of his mom's homemade chocolate chip cookies (his favorite cookie).

That's all he was really expecting. After all he was a grown man, and in the Hotchner household birthdays had ceased to be a noteworthy occasion around the point where his father died. And then a year later his stepfather arrived.

From there on out there was little to celebrate.

But thirty was a big number so Aaron had known that his mom would be sending him something. Of course he was not expecting the 'something' to include the large white envelope that he found at the bottom of the shipping box.

The one containing the certified fifteen thousand dollar bank check.

At first he'd thought the envelope was a gift certificate of some kind . . . and then after he opened it, he'd thought it was just a joke of some kind.

But it wasn't.

That was apparent after he'd found the accompanying note from his mother. She explained that Grandpa Alfred had left him the money in his will . . . Grandpa Alfred had died when Aaron was seventeen . . . but with the caveat that it wasn't to be dispersed to him prior to his 30th birthday.

Though Aaron thought the age restriction was a tad bit odd . . . it's not like he'd been slacker pothead during his teen years, he'd obtained early admission to Harvard for Christ's sake . . . he was still of course incredibly grateful for the money. Not just on principle, but more specifically because Haley had been pestering him to buy a house.

Okay . . . he started walking over towards the table of deposit slips . . . perhaps 'pestering' wasn't a very kind word. But . . . his brow wrinkled slightly . . . it was an apt one. Over the last few months she'd just been getting less and less subtle about her dissatisfaction with their one bedroom apartment in Old Town. He personally had no problem with it, but he worked more than she did so he spent less time there.

Plus . . . he rolled his eyes slightly as he stopped at the deposit table . . . he was generally less fussy than she was.

Regardless though, they just were NOT in a position financially to start looking at houses yet. Not with District rent, two car payments and the amount of money he had to put towards his student loans every month. In the last four years he had barely socked away five grand in their savings account.

And half of that was going to be sucked dry if the transmission went on Haley's Mazda.

He was expecting that to happen any day now.

So granted at this rate of save and spend, they wouldn't be able to afford a home in a _nice_ neighborhood until they were well into their 50s. And he wasn't really planning on making his wife wait quite THAT long for the white picket fence. But really he just wanted to keep the apartment in Alexandria for a bit longer. In another year or so he'd be running his fraud unit . . . that wasn't arrogance talking, he had the best conviction rate in the office . . . and then he'd be making management pay. _That's_ when they could get the nice house. After he got his _own_ office.

Right now he was sharing.

But this extra fifteen grand of essentially 'found' money . . . which was way better than finding a sawbuck in the street . . . would at least move up that house timetable by a couple of months.

Still though . . . he gave the crowd a quick once over as pulled out the check . . . it was probably best that he didn't tell Haley about it. She'd just want to spend it on something that they didn't need.

Like a vacation.

No. He'd just deposit the money today, and then write a big check to Sallie Mae tonight.

The money would be gone before Haley even knew it was there.

Yeah that was a little sneaky, but given that it was a _birthday_ present, he didn't feel too badly about it. After all he wasn't feeling obligated to share his new GOLF SHIRT with Haley!

_Oh Aaron_ . . . his conscience tsk'd . . . _that was weak. Just admit to yourself that it's wrong to hide the money, but that you're going to do it anyway._

Just as that unwelcome thought popped into his head . . . it made him sound like kind of a heel . . . Aaron's concerns about the morality of lying to his wife suddenly came to a fortunate . . . grinding . . . halt.

Something . . . specifically, some_one_ . . . had just caught his eye.

It was a gorgeous brunette.

She'd just stepped out of the revolving door. But it wasn't just the pretty face . . . he bit his lip . . . or the fabulous red dress she was wearing that had pushed thoughts of whether to tell Haley about the money from his brain. No, it more the collision course that the girl appeared to be on.

The one that was taking her right towards the 'wet floor' sign in the middle of the bank.

He gave her two more steps to notice the little yellow placard, but then he realized that she was too busy digging in her purse to even notice where she was going. And seeing the disaster about to unfold, he did his best to put a stop to it.

Just as she closed in on the patch of what was clearly a freshly waxed floor, he yelled out a, "MISS! WATCH OUT!" as he put his hand up and took a step towards her.

But it was too late.

Or maybe it was even his fault . . . which was so much worse . . . because her eyes shot up to his in surprise when he yelled.

And then she hit the deck.

OH SHIT!

Aaron shoved the check back into his pocket as he hurried over to where the girl had landed flat on her back. And though he wasn't the only person in the bank to rush over, he was the first one to reach her. And he tentatively reached out, gliding his hand just above her shoulder as he knelt down next to her.

"Miss," he asked worriedly as he leaned over to catch her eyes, "are you all right? Did you hit your head?"

At least her eyes were open . . . that was good. Though . . . his brow darkened . . . now she was rubbing her head.

That wasn't so good.

"Um, uh," Emily could feel the heat crawling up her face as she pressed down on the small egg forming, "just a little bump. But, I'm okay," she awkwardly pushed herself up to a sitting position. "I'm a professional . . ."

Her voice faded as her gaze suddenly locked with the dark . . . worried . . . eyes watching her.

". . . klutz."

She finished on a whisper.

Holy CRAP was this guy hot! So much so that it was actually impeding her ability to think rationally for a second.

Or perhaps that was the minor blow to the head.

Yeah . . . she winced slightly . . . that probably wasn't helping. And just as she opened her mouth to tell him . . . and the small crowd of looky loos that were gathering behind him . . . that she was fine and that they could all go on their merry way, she suddenly took note of the breeze blowing across her thighs.

CRAP!

Emily's knees snapped together with an embarrassingly audible slap of skin. And then she yanked her dress down from where it had flipped nearly up to her waist.

Well . . . her eyes fell shut as her hand came up to cover her face . . . that was a new one. Flashing a half dozen people in a crowded bank.

_Good job Em!_

And hearing a few snickers from some of the people standing around her, she knew that the flash had most definitely been a good one. Thank GOD she'd just bought new underwear! But seriously . . . her stomach started to twist as she heard somebody else laugh . . . she wanted to go crawl into a hole and die there.

But sadly death did not seem to be forthcoming.

Just as she was debating whether or not to turn tail and run . . . after she'd made an unladylike leap off the floor that is . . . Emily heard a terse voice coming from her side.

It spoke with authority.

"Okay ladies and gentleman, show's over. You can move along now."

And then Emily heard a few grumbles and some clicking of heels and squeaking of tennis shoes moving across the marble floor. Then the same voice came back again, this time the tone softened to just a whisper in her ear.

"Last Thursday I walked around with my fly unzipped for at least three hours."

At that, Emily opened her eyes. And a second later she brought her hand down to see a sympathetic smile on the face of the handsome Samaritan.

"Two of those hours were spent in Federal Appeals Court," he continued softly, "the Chief Justice finally interrupted my fairly impassioned argument about due process, to point at my crotch and drawl, "'son your barn door's open'."

Emily's lips immediately twitched right before a faint giggle slipped out.

She immediately clamped her hand over her mouth again.

"Sorry," she cleared her throat, "I didn't mean to laugh."

The man flashed her with a dimple.

"It's okay," he winked, "you were supposed to. I survived my public humiliation, and," Aaron put his hand out as he pushed back on his knees, "trust me, that was _much_ worse than what had just happened to you."

Hopefully she would agree. Though granted, women did tend to take these things a bit more to heart than men did. Of course they also had a few more areas in need of cover up than men.

And those legs of hers _definitely_ needed to be kept under lock and key! Not that he was looking mind you . . . he was a gentleman . . . but it had been kind of hard not to notice.

He was just relieved for her sake that she was wearing underwear!

For a moment Emily just stared into the soft brown eyes, feeling her stunning humiliation begin to fade slightly at the realization that this man had just offered up his own simply to make her feel better.

That was really very sweet.

And though she wasn't in the habit of trusting her gut when it came to men . . . her gut had let her down time and again in the in the past . . . in this instance she was pretty sure that the sweet wasn't just an act.

He seemed like a good guy.

So as he put his hand out to help her up, she gave him a shy smile as she reached out to accept the outstretched fingers.

"Thank you."

Just as the words left her mouth . . . their fingers touched. The result was an unexpected spark of static electricity. It certainly wasn't the first time that had happened to Emily, but for some reason this time it took her slightly aback. And she could see from the faint look of surprise on the man's face . . . she wasn't the only one.

He brushed over it quickly though.

"I'm Aaron by the way," he said gallantly as he pushed himself up off the ground, pulling her along with him. "Aaron Hotchner."

Okay . . . Aaron chastised himself with a faint grinding of his teeth . . . that sounded a bit flirty. And he really wasn't flirting, he was just being friendly. That's all. Friendly.

That cute little giggle and the spark of electricity he'd just felt when they touched had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Nothing at all.

"Um Emily," Emily responded softly as the man let go of her hand and she smoothed down her skirt, "Emily Prentiss. Thank you for uh," she cleared her throat while watching him stoop down to pick up her bag, "helping me up off the floor."

Sadly, not the first time she had uttered these words. Though in her defense, at least the last time she'd been in a bar. And drunk.

Here, she was just an idiot who wasn't looking where she was going.

"Not a problem," Aaron waved his hand dismissively as he came back to his feet, "here you go," he handed over her bag as his brow darkened slightly. "And you're sure your head's okay, right? You don't need a doctor?"

Her pupils seemed clear, but what the hell did he know? Diagnosing brain trauma had not been one of the courses covered in law school.

"No," Emily shook her head with a faint smile, "I'm okay. Thanks. It's not the first time I've bumped my head."

And it wouldn't be the last she thought . . . though she kept that part to herself.

As she slipped her handbag back onto her shoulder, with her free hand, Emily self-consciously smoothed down her hair. Though as her ar fell back to her side, she realized it was a bit silly to worry about her appearance now. Did she really think that she was going to impress this man after just making a complete ASS out of herself in front of him?

Short answer . . . no.

He was just being nice to her because of that pathetic display. Obviously he would have no interest in going out with a Class A Klutz like herself.

That thought undercut whatever small amount of confidence Emily had left after the spill. And then she made matters even worse by just staring blankly at the man's . . . Aaron's . . . chest. She was trying to think of something else to say to him, but she was coming up completely blank.

Because really, there was NO reason at all for them to continue speaking. Clearly they'd both entered the bank to conduct their own . . . separate . . . business.

And now it was time for them to get back to that.

But wait though . . . a thought came to her . . . she wasn't the only one still standing there.

He was too.

So just maybe . . . her gaze slowly lifted from the light blue dress shirt and back up to the dark brown eyes . . . this ridiculously handsome, sweet man with his ridiculously adorable dimples might actually find her attractive too. Otherwise he would have walked away by now, right?

Seemed logical anyway.

So to try and break the ice that was forming . . . it was arriving in the shape of an awkward silence . . . Emily knew that she needed to say something else. Anything really! She ended up going with an explanation as to how she'd ended up on the floor.

This time.

"Um," with a nervous clearing of her throat, she pointed to her feet, "in case you're wondering, it wasn't just my innate lack of grace that contributed to my fall. I have these new heels and they're a little slippery."

God she wished she'd worn flats today. Because it was just SO her life that she'd go ass over teakettle in front of the cutest guy she'd seen in well, ever. After all she'd only spent twenty-two years on the planet.

In the big picture, that was no time at all.

Aaron's gaze automatically dropped down to where the girl . . . Emily, he made a mental note . . . was pointing. For a moment he stared down at the polished black heels . . . they were at least three inches tall . . . and then his eyes slowly moved up from her feet to her ankles to her calves.

With each new area of appraisal, his eyebrow rose up incrementally in appreciation.

Married man or not, the girl had some fabulous legs. But then . . . realizing he was maybe staring a bit too intently . . . again married(!), plus he didn't want to look like a creep . . . Aaron's eyes suddenly snapped back up to her face.

She was biting her lip.

"They're uh," he tipped his head slightly, "nice. Though I can see," his gaze shot down again to the wobbly heels and shiny floor beneath them, "how they might be a little slippery on waxed," he pointed to the yellow sign, "_wet_, marble floors."

Though he didn't know this person from Adam . . . and wasn't generally in the business of making chitchat with anyone period, let alone anyone he'd just met . . . for some reason Aaron felt like talking to this girl that he knew he probably shouldn't be talking too.

Haley wouldn't approve.

Wives didn't generally approve of their husbands chatting up pretty girls they meet in the bank. Especially ones that they met with their dresses flipped half up to their waist.

But for the second time that day, Aaron decided to disregard his wife's . . . more than likely . . . thoughts on the matter at hand.

Maybe it was because of the abject humiliation that this girl had just experienced. Or maybe it was because the nervous biting of her lip was hitting him right in the gut . . . he was married, not dead. Or maybe he was just a male chauvinist who liked to play hero to the occasional, 'nearly down for the count,' damsel.

He couldn't recall the last time that he'd helped a woman beyond holding open the door for her.

Whatever it was, he decided to keep talking to this very beautiful . . . still slightly flushed . . . girl for two more minutes.

What could go wrong with that?

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: For Girl'verse regulars, this world is spinning off two years BEFORE their established meeting at the Ambassador's house in Girl proper chapters one and two. In this Girl'verse, they meet at an earlier stage . . . and because of that, things went very differently in their lives. Consider this a complete AU of both show canon and Girl, but hopefully keeping all the elements of both that many people have come to enjoy :) I know I could have just written an AU alone, but I've written literally close to a MILLION words in the Girl'verse. That fictional world is as "real" to me as the canon one is, so I just wanted to play in there as opposed to out and out drawing up new characterizations. But you will notice some basic overlaps in their relationship from the other Girl'verse to this. Like Emily's klutziness and Hotch's chivalry, being the conduit to bringing them together. Also you see her self esteem issues (I see them being more pronounced at her age now) and Hotch's need to play hero . . . though he doesn't yet have a real outlet for that ;)  
><em>

_I've been so resisting writing this (the idea's been rolling for months) but you guys who read me regularly know how my postings go in spurts, (with sometimes long gaps) so it just seemed dumb to hold something back that was so insistent on being written. It's something to read, right? :) _

_I'm not going on a Haley Hating path, but I figure (trying to think like a guy) after a few yrs there are little things that your wife does that will get on your nerves. Even if they aren't BIG things, if you're just talking to yourself, you're going to be more honest about them than you would be if you were speaking to another. And I just see Haley as being an 'upwardly mobile' type house and home wise. If I'm married to a lawyer, why the hell am I living in a tiny apartment?  
><em>

_So aside from the straight up plot based opening here (they meet in a bank and then something happens) the concept of this world is that because of what happens to them here, what would have been a casual nothing encounter, becomes a bond that keeps them connected through the coming years. And that connection builds to a strong friendship . . . and then later more. So even though Hotch will be married for a while yet, he and Emily will (in this AU world) still get together. But because he is married now, and though he might be a bit flirty initially here, he's not going to cheat on Haley. It's not THAT much of an AU. But as time moves forward, the Aaron/Emily bond will strengthen even though he's married. Not an actual 'triangle' but something new. I just liked the idea of it. Hopefully you will too :)_

_**2011 CM Awards: Voting Closes Wednesday! **  
><em>


	2. Boy & Girl Get Their Signals Crossed

**Author's Note:** Happy New Year folks! This is a direct continuation of them in the bank.

And thanks to everybody who read and reviewed and alerted (and faved) on the first chapter! It's always nice to know when people are excited about new stories :)

**Other Accounts:**

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also some random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

* * *

><p><strong>Prompt Set #15 (February)<strong>

Show: 7th Heaven

Title Challenge: When Bad Conversations Happen to Good People

* * *

><p><strong>Boy And Girl Get Their Signals Crossed<strong>

Aaron stood in the middle of the crowded bank trying to think of a reason to keep the conversation . . . such as it was . . . going for another few minutes. Unfortunately though, he was a little (very) out of practice at _making_ conversation with strange . . . albeit quite beautiful . . . women.

It didn't help that he was distracted by his brain again trying to substitute 'flirting' for 'making conversation.' So he _again_ had to shut his brain down . . . it was _just_ conversation he was trying to make. Talking.

That's it.

Okay, big shot . . . he huffed to himself . . . so it was talking. So now what the hell should they talk ABOUT?

That was the question bouncing around in Aaron's head as he stared down at this lovely girl who was in turn staring down at the toes of her too high, black patent leather shoes.

Finally a sentence popped into his head. And he was just desperate enough at that point . . . the silence was beginning to stretch to an uncomfortable point . . . to blurt it out.

"Today's my birthday!"

And then he immediately cringed in disgust.

_SERIOUSLY Aaron! Today's my BIRTHDAY! You sound like Rainman!_

But then to his surprise . . . given what a RIDICULOUS non-sequitur his announcement was . . . Emily's face lit up.

"Is it?" Her lips curved in a happy smile, "well happy birthday! How old?"

FINALLY! The silence had passed! Also, birthday talk was a casual . . . pressure free . . . opportunity for the exchanging of personal information!

Now she just had to work them up to phone numbers!

"Thirty." Aaron's brow rose up slightly, "you?"

Okay maybe the spastic "it's my birthday!" sputtering wasn't quite so socially awkward an announcement as he'd feared. It was at least allowing the conversation to attain a shred of momentum.

Which was . . . admittedly . . . more than his _conscious_ thought had allowed it to do.

"Twenty-two," Emily responded quickly, but then immediately added, "but I'll be twenty-three in October."

All right, that was the first time that she could recall 'upping her age' in a while, but she just didn't want him . . . at the ripe old age of thirty . . . to think that she . . . at the still fairly youngish age of twenty-two . . . was just a kid or something. She was NOT a kid. Hadn't been for in well, ever. Not possible when you'd traveled the world twice over for the first sixteen years of your life.

And that was including the first nine months in-utero.

"So, uh, do you have any big plans for the big Three O?" She asked with a soft smile.

This birthday thing really was a gold mine, for two reasons: A) because she honestly couldn't think of anything ELSE to talk about(!), and B) she was now thinking (hoping) that maybe he was having a party, or some kind of general get together. Really, you'd think so, thirty was a big birthday after all. So then if he actually did have some sort of interest in her . . . and all signs were pointing to a big YES on that point . . . then maybe he'd invite her to said theoretical party/get together.

And a birthday party would be the PERFECT opportunity to see him again!

It was, by definition, a social gathering. One where she would be able to get dressed up and look pretty. But it wouldn't be like she would be getting dressed up and looking pretty JUST because of him . . . it would be for a party. So it would be like a date . . . but not a date.

Again, PERFECT!

"Uh," for a second Aaron drew a complete blank as to what Haley had planned for his birthday . . . but then it came flying back to him. And he realized then that he hadn't forgotten.

He'd just blocked it out.

Bleh . . . he attempted to hide his grimace from Emily . . . the party.

Haley had rented out a function room at a fancy French restaurant in Dupont Circle. "Le Petite" something or other, he'd never even been there. But Haley had had lunch there once or twice with a wife of one of his law school classmates . . . and she'd liked it. And he didn't (generally) care too much about things like that . . . as long as it wasn't a 'club' he was good . . . so when she'd asked if it was okay to throw the party there, he'd just shrugged and said, "sure."

He'd been regretting that "sure" for the last three weeks.

Because rather than just keeping it as a small dinner party for close friends . . . the type of outing he'd expected at a "fancy" restaurant . . . instead she'd sent out _gold leaf_ invitations to half the people in his address book. The invitations were to join them for an evening of 'aperitifs & hors d'oeuvres.'

Seriously, 'aperitifs & hors d'oeuvres.'

If it was possible for his wife to have made his birthday party sound any MORE pretentious than she had, he wasn't quite sure. They'd even had a bit of a fight on the topic. Not a big fight, but still, cross words had been exchanged. She didn't really understand what his problem was.

And he couldn't really understand how she COULDN'T see what his problem was!

So basically it was safe to say that he was NOT looking forward to this party. Actually, no, that was an understatement. He was not looking forward to his next 'turn your head and cough' physical. He was DREADING the idea of this party. Just by virtue of it being _his_ birthday, he was 'pretentious by association.'

Not to mention that he couldn't STAND half the people in his address book! They were mostly people that he knew from school or through his work. And by work, he didn't mean the men and women in his fraud squad or the federal agents that brought him his cases. No, he meant the other attorneys (both public sector and private) and people he'd used as expert witnesses. Not to mention the low level congressional staff members.

They were the worst.

And those people weren't friends . . . he had maybe a dozen people in his life he considered "friends" . . . they were just contacts. People he needed to keep on good terms with if he wanted to stay afloat in this town. It was how you built a career.

But his career was a topic of consideration for a different day.

Today was just his . . . uberly pretentious . . . birthday.

So after that moment of reflection on said birthday, Aaron simply wrinkled his nose a bit as he responded to Emily's question.

"Oh nothing much," he shrugged, "just going out with . . . family."

All right yes, okay, he'd kind of taken a left turn there with the word "family." He should have said "wife." Yeah . . . his conscience gave him a poke . . . he should have. But he hadn't actually LIED. Wives _were_ family. Chosen . . . legally bound to . . . family.

They shared your name and address and everything!

'_Sometimes it was nice being a lawyer,'_ he thought with a faint trace of bitterness, _'you could (almost) even bullshit yourself.'_

"Oh," Emily tried to cover over her disappointment with a faint note of interest in her tone, "well that sounds nice."

But it didn't sound like the kind of evening that she was going to be getting an open invitation to.

Shoot.

But before she could get disappointed by that turn of events, Aaron had repeated her age, and then asked if she was still in school. And she explained that she was graduating in a few weeks. And then he asked what she was doing in town. And she told him that she was visiting her parents. And on it went, from one thing to another. The awkward pauses had passed.

They were talking.

For at least ten minutes . . . perhaps a bit longer . . . they stood there chatting in the middle of the bank. They were a bit in the way . . . people were walking all around them . . . but Emily was afraid to move for fear of breaking the little momentum they had going.

All they were doing was making chit chat, talking about the weather and the city, and just nothing really at all. Aside from the little bit about her school and his work, they didn't even exchange much personal information. But still . . . she grinned as he made a joke about the air conditioning in his office . . . she was having such a good time!

He was just so . . . nice!

He was a _nice_ guy. She never met nice guys. And he was smart and funny, and it was clear that he was really listening when she spoke. Men didn't usually listen to her. Most of the men she met, they just tried to . . . a few bad memories came up and she pushed them down again . . . well, they just usually had other things on their minds.

Actually just_ one_ other thing on their minds.

But Aaron wasn't like that at all. Or at least he didn't seem to be. And the longer they talked . . . ten minutes were definitely moving closer to fifteen . . . the less likely it seemed that he was going to suddenly morph into some big jerk who told her that she had nice tits and a cute ass.

A not uncommon pickup line from Emily's . . . less than stellar . . . experiences with men over the years.

But then the momentum began to wind down . . . time was passing . . . and Aaron finally tipped his head to look down at his watch.

It was clear . . . he had to go.

But to her surprise, rather than asking her for her number, he just smiled and reached out to shake her hand. He told her that it was very nice talking to her, good luck with her finals, and then he shot her a dimple as he told her to be careful with the heels.

And then he started to turn away.

WHOA!

She felt a little burst of panic . . . he was about to leave her there and go back to his life! And though she'd responded with the expected . . . though genuine . . . nice to meet him too and all that jazz, she just thought that was the lead up to the actual asking out on a date.

But it wasn't.

And if she'd given herself a moment to think, she might have stopped to consider why that would be. Why they would have such a lovely conversation, and then he'd just say goodbye. But she didn't stop to think . . . she just reached out and put her hand on his arm.

And when he turned back, she smiled brightly.

"So before we go our separate ways here, maybe I could buy you a birthday lunch to say thanks for the hand up?"

And though that part was planned . . . and sounded pretty smooth if she did say so herself, it was his birthday, and everybody needed to eat . . . she had little experience asking men out.

Usually she just played defense.

So in the end . . . at the last second . . . her nerves got the better of her. And so she followed up her suave little lunch invite, with a very unladylike . . . snort.

And then her face started getting burning up.

'_Seriously Em? You couldn't stay cool for FIVE minutes?'_

And as she expected after that high school flashback social geekout, Aaron's smile suddenly disappeared. Of course, why wouldn't it?

Now he probably thought that she was not only a total klutz, but now a complete dork as well.

And she was just about to throw in the towel and say "nevermind" before she embarrassed herself further, when she saw Aaron's smile come back.

Though this time it wasn't so much gallant and charming . . . as awkward and embarrassed.

Her stomach started to clench.

"That would be very nice Emily," Aaron said softly, "but I'm sorry, I can't. That is to say I'm uh . . ."

And as she looked at him in confusion . . . what was he trying to say . . . Aaron suddenly pulled his hand from his pocket, and raised it up between them. And that's when Emily saw something that she hadn't noticed before.

A wedding band.

"Oh," she bit her lip, "you're married."

There was no question in her tone, it was just . . . flat. That's why he hadn't asked her out. He had a wife. But of course he had a wife . . . she started feeling like a complete fool . . . Emily Prentiss just did not have the kind of luck where a sweet, movie star handsome guy came galloping to her rescue.

That was not her life.

Her life was the one where some guy named Snake asked if she wanted to give him a squeezer in the backroom of a bar.

That had happened last weekend.

And then on Friday there had been that asshole who'd grabbed her in the club, and then Saturday she ran into a high school boyfriend, Jimmy Herlihey.

He'd asked if she still put out on the first date.

She didn't. But . . . Emily felt a crushing wave of shame and embarrassment wash over her . . . that was obviously how men still saw her. Really . . . a lump began to form in her throat . . . how could she have ever have thought that a guy like Aaron, all perfect and handsome with a good job and everything, would really be interested in a girl like her? That was ridiculous.

She was just . . . her eyes started to burn . . . a spaz.

And he was just a nice guy who was making conversation with a stranger that he'd met in the bank.

That's it.

So even as he began to awkwardly apologize for the misunderstanding . . . while simultaneously slipping the offending ring hand back into his pants pocket . . . she just shook her head.

She didn't even try to keep the smile on her face.

"No," she cut in quickly to save herself further humiliation, "no, please don't. It was my fault. I misunderstood. I thought you were um . . ." her voice cracked and she hurriedly cleared it, "never mind. Anyway uh," her eyes dropped to the floor as she started backing up, "have a nice birthday."

At that . . . with as much dignity as she could muster . . . Emily spun around on her wobbly heels, and started for the door.

/*/*/*/*/*

Aaron blinked in astonishment as he looked after the girl that was practically RUNNING away from him!

She was clearly embarrassed . . . and upset . . . thinking that she had completely misread the situation. But she hadn't. Not really. He felt a stab of guilt in his chest . . . it wasn't her fault. This was completely his fault. He'd been too friendly.

_You were FLIRTING!_

Okay FINE . . . he huffed at his conscience . . . I was FLIRTING! He'd been FLIRTING with a pretty girl! SUE HIM! He had _deliberately_ not mentioned his wife once during their whole conversation, and then he'd _deliberately_ kept his ring hidden until he'd been forced to show it to her. And that was after she'd asked him out on a date.

She'd asked him out on a date. And then she had gotten embarrassed . . . and that was his fault. It was his fault she was upset. He'd completely led her on. He should have just helped her up off the floor and waved goodbye. But no, he had to make 'chitchat' and flash his dimples and just be an all-around ASSHOLE because it was _his_ birthday! And what could it hurt to chat up a pretty girl for a few minutes on his birthday?

Well . . . he felt another stab of guilt as he watched her moving at rapid speed towards the revolving door . . . it could hurt the girl, that's what. It's not like he thought he was such a catch, but he KNEW that she was interested in him.

That was apparent.

He knew that from the way that she'd smiled at him and laughed at his stupid jokes. And he liked the attention. So he let her think that he was interested in her too.

When he wasn't.

Well . . . he bit his lip as his eyes dropped down to the floor . . . okay, that's not true. He was interested. Not seriously. Not like 'hey, let's cheat on Haley' interested, but he'd enjoyed talking to Emily. And he'd enjoyed the diversion of a pretty face. Not a crime, but still . . . he felt a wave of shame . . . it wasn't nice to play with other people's emotions. It hadn't been intentional . . . he just hadn't considered the consequences to his actions. But the consequences were that he'd ended up embarrassing a nice girl because he was a bit bored with his life choices.

_So are you just going to let her LEAVE?_

That was his conscience again.

And his conscience was right . . . again. He needed to apologize, properly, for not being forthcoming with her about his status. He didn't want her feeling badly about what had happened.

He was the jerk here.

So just as she stepped into the revolving door, he bolted after her, nearly knocking down two people in the process.

Though he got a few curses yelled after him, he just muttered a "sorry," over his shoulder. He was too busy to even look back, he needed to keep his eye on Emily's movements.

He could see her on the other side of the glass.

And as she started walking double time up towards Lafayette Park . . . she was going much more quickly now that she was off the marble floors . . . he was stepping into the glass merry-go-round himself. And though some small part of his brain tried to point out that he still needed to deposit his fifteen thousand dollar check . . . and that he eventually needed to get back to work . . . he just kept on moving after the pretty girl that he'd just been unspeakably rude to.

As Aaron stepped back out onto the sidewalk, he turned in the direction Emily had been heading.

He started to jog.

Though logic would dictate yelling her name might allow him to catch her faster, given that she was running away FROM him, he was worried that if she knew he was behind her, that she'd just kick off her heels and bolt.

He wouldn't really blame her.

But luck was on his side, because rather than continuing on to a Metro station, or further down the street, Emily simply cut onto one of the side paths and went over to sit down on a bench. It was an area partially obscured by the bushes . . . he probably would have missed her if he hadn't been right behind her when she walked over there . . . but at least she'd stopped moving.

So he did as well. Stopping to smooth down his shirt and push his sleeves back up before he took a breath. Then with slice of crow firmly lodged in his throat, he continued over to the small footpath that she'd taken a moment before. Ten seconds later, he was standing in front of her bench.

Her head was bent down, and . . . his gust twisted . . . oh God.

She appeared to be crying.

He wanted to punch himself in the face.

"Emily," he whispered as he stooped down in front of her, "are you all right?"

Part of him wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder . . . but the rest of him knew that was a bad idea. She wasn't looking in his direction . . . she didn't know it was him. And even if it was broad daylight, you don't lay hands on an attractive young woman in a public park, unless you want to hear her scream bloody murder.

And then he'd be swarmed by Secret Service Agents. And faster than he could say, "no, but I really _do_ work for the Justice department!" he'd have his face in the grass and a boot in his back.

So he waited until she raised her head . . . and seeing the mascara streaks on her face . . . he bit his lip.

"Please don't tell me that you're crying because of what just happened." He whispered.

If he did this . . . well, he was just going to hell. That was all there was to it.

Emily blinked in astonishment.

"What are you doing here?" She asked with an embarrassed sniffle as she hurriedly wiped her hand across her face.

And then she realized that he obviously must have followed her out, and she felt like an even bigger idiot than she had before. He'd just found her crying in the park.

Now he must think she's a complete mental case too.

So before he could say anything else, she quickly put her hand up to shoo him away.

"Aaron," she shook her head as she tried to stop crying, "please, just go. I'm fine."

"No," Aaron started to reach out to wipe her tears away . . . but then quickly curled his fingers back, "you're obviously not fine. And if I'm in any way responsible for you not being fine, then please," he whispered, "please know how very, very sorry I am. You shouldn't feel badly. I should have told you right away that I was married. I shouldn't have been," he bit his lip, "well I shouldn't have been flirting with you."

Seeing her brow darken slightly, he hurried to explain.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I mean, that hadn't been my intention when we started talking, but I realized after you ran out that's what I was doing. And so I gave you completely the wrong impression about my situation. So you shouldn't be embarrassed for asking me out to lunch. You didn't misunderstand anything. I . . . well, I . . ."

For a second he was at a loss for words . . . and then he decided the truth would be best. It would be humiliating.

But he owed it to her.

"I just liked you," he gave her a sad smile, "you were really pretty, and I wanted to talk to you for a minute. And then after those few minutes were up I realized that you weren't just pretty, you were nice and you were funny too, and um," he swallowed, "well, I just wanted to talk to you for a little bit longer."

Seeing that Emily's eyes were still watering . . . though she did at least appear to be listening to him . . . Aaron reached out to squeeze her hand.

"I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding. I wasn't thinking. But," he asked hopefully, "did you hear the part where I said that you were nice and funny and really pretty? I said pretty twice."

His goal was . . . at minimum . . . to get her to stop crying, and . . . at most . . . to get her to smile.

He got both.

"You're flirting again," Emily said with a watery smile, and when his dimple slipped out she huffed, "still flirting. You really need to put those away. Though at least this time," she gestured to the wedding band sitting on the hand that was squeezing hers, "this is on display too."

Though part of her wanted to be mad at him, she couldn't really see that he'd done anything so terrible that she should be upset with him. He'd thought she was pretty and wanted to talk to her for a minute.

How do you get mad at somebody for that?

It's not like he'd asked her out on a date or something. Or lied and said that he was single. It was just a conversation in a bank. It was just that he'd been absolutely ADORABLE while he was conversating! But . . . she sighed as she patted the seat next to her . . . there was no crime against being adorable. It wasn't his fault that she'd been having such a shitty week.

That that embarrassment in the bank had been pretty much the last straw.

Hence him finding her crying on a park bench, over a . . . in the grand scheme . . . relatively minor social gaffe.

Which was, in and of itself, yet ANOTHER embarrassment for the day. But she was getting a bit numb to them. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe in a few years she wouldn't care so much what people thought of her.

Then every little thing wouldn't feel like the end of the world.

And when Aaron placed a brown paper napkin in her hand, she finally turned to face him.

He'd just spilled his guts . . . she might as well return the favor.

"I forgive you for your accidental flirting," she said with a little smile, "and please know that I'm not generally quite such a basket case that I would start crying over a misunderstanding like that."

She took a breath as she started wiping the tears from her face, "it's just been a really lousy week. I'm stressed out for my finals," she tipped her head, "I told you that they start next Tuesday, but I didn't tell you that I'm really worried about my statistics class. The final's half my grade and I suck at stats. So that's why I left campus, everyone studying like their lives depended on it was just making things worse. So I came back home to visit my parents for a few days. I told you that," she sniffed and wiped her face again, "but I don't think that I mentioned that my dad got called away for work the day after I got here. So it's just me and my mother. And my mother and I don't really get along that well. And then this morning we had a big fight about my post graduate studies," Emily cleared her throat, "she doesn't approve of me going to the Sorbonne. So there's all that, and then . . . "

Her cheeks started to get a little pink as she paused for a moment.

"Well, I'll just tell you this so you'll know that it's been a particularly bad 'guy week.' Um, I went out with my girlfriend this weekend to the Nine-Thirty Club, and some guy pushed me against the wall, and before I could stop him he got his hands under my shirt and felt me up."

Seeing Aaron's brow darken considerably, just as his fingers tightened over her hand, she hurriedly shook her head. "It's okay though, I took care of it. Busted his nose, and broke his fingers. He won't be doing that to any other girl for a while."

He was such a scumbag though . . . dirty and greasy and just, bleh . . . that she'd gone home and scrubbed herself raw in the shower.

And noting then that Aaron's obvious anger on her behalf, had morphed to a look of surprise . . . and admiration . . . Emily shrugged sheepishly.

"My dad made sure I knew how to handle myself. He used to make me practice maneuvers until I could flip the Marines."

Choosing not to elaborate on that point . . . too much to get into there . . . Emily sighed as she crumpled the makeshift tissue in her hand.

"So there was that run in, and then we went out again Saturday night, different club of course and I bumped into an old boyfriend. He didn't touch me, but," her eyes started to sting again as she thought back, "he was just a real jerk to me. And well," her gaze snapped up to Aaron's, "you weren't a jerk. You were nice," her eyes started to fill with tears again, "and nice guys never ask me out."

Okay . . . she quickly started blinking . . . she hadn't meant to start crying again. That was stupid. But still, it was true. Nice guys NEVER asked her out.

"Oh, Emily," Aaron soothed sympathetically, "that can't be true."

Could it? If it was, then he was going to feel like an even bigger asshole than he had up to that point.

And he wouldn't have thought that possible.

"It is though," she wiped the corner of her eye as she gave him a sad smile. "I'm a bum magnet. My mother always says so, and on that one point, I do have to agree. So yeah," she leaned back against the bench and crossed her legs, "that's why I'm having a little mini-breakdown in the middle of the day. It's not your fault. It's just my pathetic life," her eyes crinkled slightly as she looked over at him, "but I'll live. So you can feel free to leave me here now to wallow in my patheticness."

Though it was a bit embarrassing telling him all that, it had been clear that he had also been embarrassed about what he'd told her.

They were kind of even there.

And really . . . she bit her lip . . . it actually had felt kind of good to get all that crap off of her chest. Usually when she had a mini . . . or a maxi . . . freak out, she just hid in a corner somewhere, kicking herself for being such a loser. But when she'd said all that stuff out loud, she didn't feel like quite such a loser. It was like she was talking about somebody else.

Just some poor girl that was having a hard week.

So maybe . . . Emily took a breath as she wiped the mascara smears she was sure were in the corners of her eyes . . . she should be a little kinder to that girl. She should be a little kinder to herself.

She'd probably be a bit happier if she was.

Aaron's jaw slowly ground back and forth as he stared down at a dead leaf on the stone path in front of him. He was about to do something . . . and make no mistake, he was DEFINITELY about to do this thing . . . but he honest to God didn't have a clue where his actions would fall on the matrimonial scale of inappropriate behavior.

Probably somewhere in the middle.

But he could live with the middle. So he took a breath before looking back up to Emily still fixing her face.

"How about we go get that lunch?"

Emily looked over at Aaron in surprise.

"What?"

"Lunch," Aaron reached over to take the . . . now useless soggy . . . napkin from her fingers, "food. Sitting down, eating." He turned to drop the wet clump of paper into the trash barrel before looking back at her with a shameless dimple.

"It's my birthday and I would like to have lunch with a pretty girl who can't walk in high heels. You're the only one around right now." Seeing her sheepish smile, he squeezed her fingers, "seriously Emily, just lunch. And then you can go back to your life, and I'll go back to my life. And in the little bit in-between, we'll just have a nice meal. Would you like to do that?"

For just an hour he could pretend like it was a different world . . . one where he wasn't married. Where it wasn't wrong to have lunch with the girl that he'd just met in the bank. Because he knew that by married man standards . . . certainly by _Haley_ standards . . . this was wrong.

But it didn't really "feel" wrong.

Intellectually yes, but emotionally . . . there was no guilt. It was just a meal. A special meal to apologize to this nice girl for being one more guy that had not treated her as well as she deserved to be treated.

It was the least he could do.

Emily looked down at the shiny gold band on Aaron's finger, and then back up to the soft . . . hopeful . . . smile he was giving her.

Her eyebrow went up.

"And no funny business, right?"

Though she knew the answer to the question . . . no . . . still, she'd feel stupid if she didn't at least ask. She didn't date married men.

Aaron's lips twitched.

"If you're asking if I was planning on _ravishing_ you over our salad course, no," he cleared his throat, "no I was not planning on doing that."

Good for her for checking though. Maybe he was just a creep with a wedding ring. Okay . . . he flashed on the tears running down on her face moments ago . . . he _was_ a creep with a wedding ring. But he wasn't THAT kind of creep. He was the kind that made nice girls cry.

Not that kind that cheated on his wife.

Emily's eyebrow shot up a little higher, this time in amusement.

"What about over dessert?"

A slow grin spread across Aaron's face.

"No, not over dessert either. Though that was an excellent question, and if you so choose, you'd make a fine lawyer one day. So let me assure you unequivocally, you will be safe from any and all ravishing for the entire period of our acquaintanceship." Then he stood up and put his hand out. "So what do you say? Lunch? You, me, salad, dessert? Maybe an entrée in between?"

He just had to deposit his check, and call the office to fake a lengthy errand.

Then the afternoon was his.

"Yes," Emily chuckled as she took Aaron's outstretched fingers.

"Yes, I'd like that very much."

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: If you read Girl proper, you'll see a lot of overlaps in their relationship in this version. Their relationship always beginning over mindless chit chat and then Hotch's protectiveness, and Emily beating up guys in bars :) There's more there too if you're looking for it, but basically you see, it's the same them, just different circumstances pulling them together._

_And given how it's established that Em was a mess in her teen years, and she's only 22 here, I see her issues obviously still being real issues. Perhaps not quite so prominent, but her mother problems and her self-esteem problems wouldn't have all magically resolved themselves just by a few years in college. She was still picking lousy boyfriends well into her 30s, and by that age you have a bit of a sense of humor about something like that. But not so much at 22. Problems seem bigger when you're younger, but then you get a little older, some perspective, and you realize then that most things don't really matter as much as you thought they did. Especially relationship problems. And at this age she's not yet the smooth confident FBI agent. So though she's grown-up Emily with the same kindness and quick wit, plus her ass kicking tendencies (the marine flipping is Girl canon from Chapter 87, Father Knows Best) she's still more vulnerable and more easily hurt. Not a basket case :) just, young. _

_And Hotch, he's still just Hotch. He's a stand-up guy and he loves his wife, but from canon, this is the point in his life where he starts making some radical changes. Going from the Law to the Order aspect of the criminal justice system is a big jump, so clearly things in his world are not entirely copasetic. And if Emily were to enter his world at this stage, where he's about to start making some radical changes, how would that effect his growth as a character? We shall see :)_

_Hope you liked it! The next one will be up faster. The holidays (and multiple story juggling) slowed down this posting, but I know where we're going, so hoping for the next one within the next couple weeks._


	3. Boy Makes A Bad Call

**Author's Note: **Toodling along here, we're picking up almost directly from where we left. As always, thanks for the prior alerts and reviews.

And please note the prompt choice ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Prompt Set #34 - September &amp; October 2011<strong>

Show: According to Jim

Title Challenge: Plot Twist

* * *

><p><strong>Boy Makes A Bad Call<strong>

Aaron started out of the park still holding Emily's hand . . . and then he realized.

He was still holding Emily's hand.

Crap.

He bit down into his lip . . . that wasn't good.

His office was only a few blocks away, and even if all of his coworkers hadn't yet met his wife, he did have a picture of her on his desk.

And she didn't look a DAMN thing like the woman at his side!

But not wanting to hurt Emily's feelings (again) rather than dropping her fingers and moving a chaste six inches away from her . . . like any respectable married man should be doing when out walking with a hot girl that was not his wife/blood relative . . . Aaron simply let go of her fingers.

Then he moved his hand up to her shoulder.

Not AROUND her shoulders mind you, just _on_ her shoulder. Like he'd do with his sister . . . if he had a sister . . . it was just an acknowledgment that they were traveling together. He was simply 'guiding' her along. That was it.

No funny business.

And given the shy smile Emily shot up to him, it looked like she approved of the adjustment of physical contact. So, with that little societal mind field addressed . . . he could definitely never have a real affair, just this WALK was stressing him out(!) . . . as they stepped out onto the sidewalk running opposite the White House, Aaron began moving them back in the direction from whence they'd came.

"One thing before we go to lunch," he said as he began digging into his pants pocket with his free hand, "I need to pop back into the bank for a minute. I have a birthday check that I need to deposit and," he gave a little head shake as he yanked the crumpled paper from his pocket, "it really isn't one that can wait."

As it was the check was already looking seriously worse for wear for the hasty pocket cramming when he ran out of the bank. He was just lucky that he hadn't dropped the damn thing in the gutter when he was chasing after Emily. But if he held onto it any longer . . . he tried to shake out the worst of the wrinkles . . . he was definitely going to lose it.

And that was going to be an _embarrassing_ phone call to his mother.

"Whoa!" Emily exclaimed when her eyes fell on the check in Aaron's hand, "that's a lot of zeroes!"

That was one big ass BIRTHDAY check! Was he a Kennedy or something?

"Yeah," Aaron shrugged a bit self-consciously as he dropped his arm back down to his side, "my mother sent it to me this morning. My grandfather had left me the money in his will years ago, but I didn't know about it until today because it wasn't supposed to be distributed until I turned thirty. I just want to deposit it before I lose it."

Okay . . . Aaron's brow wrinkled . . . he had now just told Emily the huge secret that he had decided to keep from his wife. Huh. Well, that was uh . . . unplanned. And also . . . his nose wrinkled . . . probably some sort of violation of the marital trust.

Or at least it felt like it was.

_But_ . . . he tried to comfort his discomforted self . . . as long as Emily never told his wife the secret . . . and if the two of them ever randomly met then he'd have MUCH bigger problems than an undisclosed birthday check . . . then perhaps it wasn't so bad. At least in regards to his physical well-being.

He'd have to get back to that marital trust thing on another day.

"Oh man," Emily snorted as they continued walking towards the bank, "I would have already lost it. I'm terrible about stuff like that. That's actually why I was going to the bank today. I lost my stupid card thingy sometime over the weekend."

And now she was also feeling better about the ginormous birthday check. At least he wasn't _actually_ a Kennedy. Because that would have totally blown if he was gorgeous, funny, nice AND filthy rich!

Talk about worst missed opportunity EVER!

Aaron's lips twitched as he looked down.

"Stupid card thingy," he repeated in amusement, "would that translate in English as the 'automated teller machine debit card'?"

Ridiculous statements like 'stupid card thingy,' were how he'd lost the initial twenty minutes of his life to her in the bank . . . she was quite amusing.

In an 'easily get sucked into her gravitational pull' kind of way.

"Potato, potatoe," Emily huffed with a flap of her hand. "So anyway," she moved back to the more interesting topic of conversation . . . the money, "the birthday check. Do you have big plans for it? A trip or," she grinned up at him, "maybe one of those giant foam fingers? Because you know catching a cab would be a BREEZE with one of those things."

Joke or not, that actually wasn't a bad idea. If nothing else it would save her from having to flash her legs at two am to get a cab.

Always a plus.

"No," Aaron's mouth quivered again, "no, sorry I wasn't planning on purchasing any foam fingers. And no trips to Venice or Stuttgart either. I'm just putting it towards my student loans. It won't even really make that much of a dent but," he shrugged, "every bit helps."

Then . . . realizing he might sound a bit ungrateful for his gift . . . he quickly clarified.

"Not that I don't appreciate the money either way of course," he added as the bank entrance came back into view, "I'm just saying that school's expensive. And you don't really realize _how _expensive, until you get out and all the loans come due," then he squeezed her shoulder, "you'll see."

"Um," Emily's nose wrinkled sheepishly as she looked up at her new friend, "actually I don't think that I will. My family's sort of um, rich. I don't have any loans."

Great, she thought with a cringe, now SHE was the one that sounded like a Kennedy! And seeing Aaron's eyebrow go up in amusement, Emily was quick to add.

"But just to be clear though, _I'm _not rich. _They_ are. I actually bartend three nights a week. It covers all my expenses. And then once I'm out of school, I'm completely on my own. But my mother said that there wasn't any reason for me to go into debt for college, so they pay my tuition and housing directly, the rest is all me. It's really nice that school's covered, but my folks aren't super rich or anything, just," she shrugged, "'well off' I guess would be the best term."

And about half of that was family money . . . both of them came from it . . . and half that was just her parents working their asses off for the last twenty-five years. So she wasn't actually embarrassed about the enormous house in Kalorma or the beach front cottage in Martha's Vineyard.

'_They both traveled too often to enjoy either of them anyway,_' she thought with a trace of bitterness. But she shook that off.

It wasn't the time to focus on her family dramas.

Aaron paused for a moment to look down at Emily in curiosity. They had just reached the front of the bank again . . . and though they had things to do . . . he now had a question on the tip of his tongue.

Because he had known quite a few 'rich girls' in his day . . . he had spent four years at Harvard and then another four working a career path in Washington . . . and by his experience, there weren't many rich girls that were qualified to brew a pot of coffee, let alone support themselves mixing drinks. Not to mention that offhand remark Emily had made earlier about her father 'making her practice maneuvers until she could flip the Marines.'

So the question was really just BEGGING to be asked.

"What do your parents do?"

That was not something that had been touched upon at all earlier. Given his own 'parental' issues . . . and the horror show therein . . . Aaron didn't generally inquire directly about other people's home lives or upbringing. But, seeing as she'd brought both points up . . . he didn't feel the question was out of line.

And if it was, she could just decline to answer.

Emily's teeth sunk into her lip as she stared up at Aaron for a moment . . . should she?

Oh . . . she sighed . . . what the hell.

"Um," she cleared her throat, "at _present_, my mother is the Ambassador to Belgium, and my father works for the CIA."

Though she didn't tell most people what her parents did for a living . . . generally she just said they worked "for the government" . . . Aaron did work for the DOJ . . . and that was true, she'd seen his lanyard . . . so he obviously had a security clearance.

Not that his clearance alone would have been reason to disclose her father's job in particular . . . half of this town had a clearance in something or other . . . but given that Daddy wasn't working deep cover assignments any longer, his general employer wasn't so much a secret anymore. Or, at all really.

He had business cards and everything.

She had one in her wallet.

Still though, she was a little nervous about Aaron's reaction to what she'd said . . . even for this town it was kind of a weird background. And she could see him staring at her for a moment, almost like he was processing the data . . . and then he nodded.

"I can see that." Then he stepped back to let her go through the door. "So," his eyebrow quirked up, "where do you want to go to lunch?"

A mother who was a professional politician and a father who was a spy . . . he huffed faintly to himself . . . Emily Prentiss certainly didn't let him down in the parental expectation department.

And she was now _officially_ the most interesting person that he'd met that month.

For a moment Emily ignored Aaron's question about lunch. And she did that because she was again taking a second to kick the fates for sending this man into her life pre-betrothed. Honestly, he was probably the first 'regular' person that she'd mentioned her parents' jobs to, that hadn't asked ten invasive follow up questions.

Ones that had made her regret opening her mouth to begin with.

But he hadn't asked one question . . . he was just cool about it. Cool _with_ it. And that was making her feel kind of depressed.

Maybe the lunch wasn't going to be such a great idea.

Still though she tried to give him a little smile . . . even if she did have a slightly angsty dig in her chest . . . as she patted the arm holding the fifteen thousand dollars.

"Your choice on lunch," then her tone brightened slightly, "after all you've got as much money there as Scrooge McDuck."

It was a goofy little joke, but when Emily saw Aaron's mouth quiver, she ended up giving him a saucy wink in response. And seeing his eyes widen slightly at that, the angst began to fade.

Even if her attraction to this man would remain unrequited, it was still fun to flirt with him.

He was gorgeous after all.

And as long as they both knew that nothing was going to happen between them, then really . . . she turned to step into the next space on the revolving door . . . what was the harm?

Though he saw Emily disappear into the glass merry go round, rather than following her through, Aaron remained on the sidewalk.

He was blinking like an owl.

Was she just _flirting_ with him? Though he was admittedly a bit of out of practice with the activity . . . you didn't flirt much with your own wife . . . that wink did very much seem like flirting. But that didn't make sense . . . his brow wrinkled . . . because Emily knew that she wasn't supposed to be flirting with him.

Because he couldn't flirt back!

Wait . . . he froze for a second . . . that made it sound like he WANTED to flirt back. But he didn't. Not at all.

Not even a little.

Okay . . . he groaned to himself . . . maybe he did a little. Actually . . . he bit his lip . . . maybe he did a lot. Maybe he'd had a little too much fun doing that earlier. And maybe, as he ground his teeth together, he realized that making Emily smile, had brought him a little too much personal satisfaction.

And maybe he was just an awful husband that was going to burn in hell.

But putting aside his not so stellar character defects for a moment . . . wanting to begin CONSCIOUSLY flirting was not a good road for him . . . as he slowly let out the little breath that he'd been holding, Aaron reminded himself that Emily was . . . as they say . . . a 'nice girl.'

A nice girl that had already made it QUITE clear that she wasn't interested in engaging in any "funny business" with a married man.

So most likely . . . a little more of the tension left his body . . . that wasn't her flirting. That was just her joking around. That seemed to be her way.

And it was a nice way.

So that meant, again character defects aside . . . he finally stepped into the revolving door . . . that he was just being an idiot. He rolled his eyes.

And not the first time.

And to Emily's credit . . . again, as a nice girl . . . Aaron was relieved that she chose not to question why it had taken him nearly a minute longer to clear the bank entrance than it had her. After all, it wasn't exactly Checkpoint Charlie that they had to needle their way past.

It was just a glass door moving in a circle.

Though . . . his lips pursed together disapprovingly . . . perhaps the reason that she hadn't noticed how tardy he was in following her in, was because _she _was lost in her own world again. Not only was she wandering off, he shook his head.

But she was back digging into that damn purse again.

The damn purse . . . he hurried after her as she began heading towards the same patch of floor that she'd gone splat on a half an hour ago . . . that had been her downfall earlier.

She really should invest in one of those new fanny pack things.

"Careful," he murmured as he caught up, smoothly slipping her arm through his, "this is the icy spot. And if you fall down again, you might not be so lucky this time.

"Lucky?" Emily blinked as she sputtered up at Aaron in surprise, "you think it was LUCKY that I flipped my skirt up over my head?"

Again, the only thing that was LUCKY about that, was that she'd had on new underwear when it had happened!

"No," Aaron rolled his eyes, "I'm not saying _that_ was lucky. I'm saying that your fall could have been worse. You could have taken a bad bump to your head the last time."

And now . . . he huffed to himself . . . he was starting to feel like he was talking to his wife. So maybe the desire to flirt was just an aberration.

One that hopefully wouldn't come back.

"Oh," Emily calmed down a bit, "well, that makes more sense," then her attention dropped back to her shoulder bag as she murmured back absentmindedly, "though I did take a pretty bad bump to my head then too."

"What?"

Hearing the squeak of concern in Aaron's tone, Emily shot him a sheepish smile.

"It's okay. I do that all the time. It only hurts for a minute. Though," her eyes fell warily down to her nemesis . . . the shiny gold marble, "in this instance you're probably right," she shifted a little closer to him, "best not to push my luck with another head bump today."

Her search for a piece of candy . . . she was starving and she could have sworn she had a box of junior mints in the bottom of her bag . . . would have to wait until they were on safer ground again.

It would be nice if she didn't end up with a concussion just because of these stupid shoes.

Aaron stood there for a moment with his gaze bouncing between Emily's head and the slippery marble beneath their feet. Then he rolled his eyes.

It might not be his smartest move, but . . . he removed his grip from her arm . . . it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

"You're right," he nodded as his arm slipped down and around her waist, "best not push our luck."

And when he saw Emily look up at him sideways at the liberty he'd just taken . . . though he did note the faint bit of amusement there as well . . . he just rolled his eyes again.

"You can holster the look," Aaron huffed as he began walking them in the direction of the teller windows, "there's no _ravishing afoot._ This is purely a safety precaution. We really don't have time for another spectacular spill this afternoon. Because for one thing," he continued in a vaguely bored tone as they cut around an old woman standing in the middle of the bank, "I'm getting hungry, and it would be nice to eat something before my actual birthday party rolls around . . . seven hours from now. But also," he made another course correction around a random human statue, "though I'm not a doctor, I'm _fairly_ sure that if you slam your head into marble twice in one day, then we're going to have to trot on over to the ER to get you a CAT scan," then his expression softened as he looked back down at her with a little smile, "and I do have a day job that I need to get back to eventually."

Really, these were the ONLY reasons that he was touching her in this fashion. It had absolutely nothing to do with anything else. Like . . . he bit his lip . . . the fact that she was soft and cushiony and her hair smelled really . . . he discretely inhaled . . . _really,_ good.

Like roses.

He liked roses.

Not that that mattered, he reminded himself while blinking to refocus. Even if she had been bony and poky with hair smelling like TUNA FISH he _still_ would have been doing his damndest to keep her from wiping out on the floor again. It was the right thing to do. He was just being chivalrous, that's all.

At least that's what he told his conscience.

Though . . . he bit back a sigh . . . his conscience didn't seem to be buying it.

Hearing Aaron's blustery defense of his unsolicited arm wrapping, Emily felt a half dozen sassy responses RACE to the tip of her tongue.

But for once in her life . . . she slipped her purse back onto her shoulder . . . she kept her tongue firmly holstered. Instead she opted to just chuckle quietly as he walked them around the other patrons and over towards the velvet ropes.

Really, if the awesome, hot guy . . . that smelled AMAZING . . . though she didn't know if that was aftershave or just HIM . . . wanted to briefly pull her to his side for a 'safety precaution,' she wasn't going to complain.

She was just going to enjoy the ride.

Because really, as 'advances' went . . . though she didn't really consider it an 'advance' . . . it was a very chaste one. Old fashioned even.

It was kind of sweet really.

He just didn't want her to fall down.

But also . . . she rolled her eyes slightly . . . his points about eating food and them getting on with their respective days were all valid ones. It was entirely possible that she could indeed go flying onto her butt again. Especially given that she probably was going to get distracted talking to him about something. Like . . . ooh . . . Emily's eyes suddenly lit up as a new thought popped into her head.

Then she excitedly patted the hand resting on her hip.

"Oh, can we get cake for dessert?"

Aaron's brow wrinkled as he looked down at Emily curiously.

"Emily, if you'd like a piece of cake, of course you can have some." His lip quirked up slightly, "you can even pick out your own entrée and drink too."

That was a very odd thing to ask permission about.

"No," Emily shook her head, "I mean can we get BIRTHDAY cake? You know, for you? After we eat, can we stop at a bakery and get a little cake with a candle in it?"

Yes, it might seem a little forward to extend out their NON date to include other NON date activities. But really, he was being very nice. Just him asking her to go lunch to make up for what happened in the bank earlier was so sweet, that she just wanted to have her own way to say thank you to him.

And given the day . . . his _birth_day . . . this kind of stop just seemed the most appropriate way to say thanks.

But seeing Aaron's teeth start to dig into his lip . . . he was clearly mulling the request . . . she knew that he was a little nervous about the idea. So she smiled up at him.

"No ravishing on my side either, I promise. I just thought that it would be nice if you had the opportunity for an extra birthday wish. Plus," she grinned, "I like cake."

Seeing Aaron burst out laughing at that pronouncement, Emily knew then that she'd won him over.

"Okay," Aaron chuckled as they stepped into the velvet rope area, "fine, we can get some cake."

This woman was completely and utterly ridiculous!

But for some reason . . . he started feeling a little stirring where he shouldn't be having any stirrings at all . . . the more time that he spent with her, the more time that he WANTED to spend with her. And that . . . he somewhat reluctantly pulled his arm away from her waist . . . they were now just standing still in line . . . was bad. Very bad.

On par with conscious FLIRTING, bad!

Because he was still married . . . and he was STILL not going to cheat on Haley. Right . . . he pushed down the quiver of attraction that was starting to become distracting . . . not cheating on Haley.

Ever.

He wasn't that guy.

Though . . . his eyes crinkled slightly as he listened to Emily's excitement while rattling off her favorite bakeries within walking distance . . . the German one sounded interesting . . . he had to admit that his memories of this birthday . . . or more particularly of this random girl who had floated into his life on this birthday . . . were probably going to stick with him for a long time.

And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

Again, he loved his wife. But the world was a big place, and there were so many people to meet.

Maybe he was supposed to meet Emily.

Maybe this was how his birthday was supposed to go. Because there was no denying, that as he saw Emily's eyes sparkle as she started telling him about the best slice of cake that she'd ever had . . . in Paris . . . that this brief time with her had been . . . with the exception of the awkward misunderstanding . . . the most fun that he'd had all week.

All month really.

And that meant . . . they shuffled forward slightly in line . . . that her short contribution to his life, had already been a very worthy one.

The problem was that he was wishing that the contribution could be extended a bit further.

That perhaps they could maybe be friends.

But as she shook her hair back and he got another whiff of the rose scented shampoo, he knew that friendship just wasn't in the cards. And he knew that because he'd just felt that little quiver of attraction brushing over him again.

He'd wanted to slide his arm back around her waist.

And that was bad too.

Because even if he wasn't the type to cheat . . . physically cheat anyway, the lunch was kind of a grey area . . . he knew that he just couldn't be in a committed relationship _and _maintain a platonic friendship with another woman that he was finding himself attracted to. It would just be too confusing on so many levels. Emotionally . . . physically . . . sexually.

You name it.

But also . . . Haley's face suddenly popped into his head . . . he couldn't be married and maintain _personal_ friendships with any attractive women, period. Perhaps if Emily was a co-worker or a neighbor . . . or someone else with a label that held some distance . . . the situation would be a little different.

At least from Haley's point of view.

But unfortunately Emily didn't hold another label. She wasn't anything but what she was.

A really hot chick that he'd met in a bank.

And that meant that Haley would have a fit if he . . . against his better judgment . . . tried to add Emily to his friend roster. Hell, Haley would have a fit right NOW! And all they were doing was standing in line together at the bank!

"Are you okay?"

Hearing Emily's worried tone . . . and then processing that she'd stopped talking a few seconds earlier . . . Aaron's somewhat startled gaze snapped down to hers.

"Uh, yeah," he nodded, "sure."

Just suddenly freaking out about my wife catching me in the bank with you is all!

Emily stared up at Aaron for a moment, gauging the look on his face. Then she bit her lip.

"I was talking too much wasn't I?" Her lips pursed slightly as she shook her head, "I'm sorry. I do that sometimes. I just get excited about something and then forget that the rest of the world doesn't generally care to hear to my . . ." she gave Aaron an awkward smile as a memory flashed in her head, "stupid opinion, on whatever dumb thing I'm talking about." Then her eyes dropped to the floor as her voice faded slightly, "I'll just be quiet until we get out of here."

And the spaz takes another bow. But really it's not like it was the first time that she'd bored some guy to tears with her rambling. She was just so clueless sometimes. People didn't want to her thoughts on every little stupid thing that popped into her brain.

And she just needed to remember that.

"What?" Aaron sputtered in surprise. "Emily," he continued in astonishment as he reached over to lift her chin, "don't be ridiculous! I don't want you to be QUIET!"

Realizing that his tone was much too loud . . . especially for a building with twenty foot ceilings and an unfortunate echo . . . Aaron continued in a softer tone.

"That had nothing to do with you," he said while shaking his head at the sadness in her eyes, "that was just me getting distracted for a moment. And that was very rude on my part," he dropped his fingers from her chin down to take her hand, "I apologize."

God, he was such an ASSHOLE! It was probably in the poor girl's best interest that this would be their only day together. So far he'd stomped on her little feelings TWICE in the forty-five minutes that he'd known her!

At this rate he might as well just sock her in the FACE and be done with it!

And it wasn't until Emily's expression began to lighten right before she whispered, "okay," that Aaron started to feel a little better about what he'd just done. About how he'd fucked up with her.

Again.

And just as he was about to ask Emily to repeat the last thing that she'd been talking about . . . he'd lost the thread after French buttercream . . . her choice of words from the moment before popped back into his head.

Stupid opinion.

And he could tell from the look on her face when she'd said it . . . that hurt smile . . . that it wasn't just a randomly chosen phrase.

Somebody had said those exact words to her.

And given what she'd told him out in the park, he was guessing . . . it was probably a man.

One that was an even BIGGER asshole than he was!

But not wanting to embarrass her in front of the people waiting in line around them . . . well, embarrass her any more than he had ALREADY, again loud talking and echoes didn't go together . . . Aaron leaned in close to say the last thing that needed to be said.

"And your opinions aren't stupid Emily," he whispered as their eyes caught, "I've known you less than an hour, but that adjective wouldn't even make the list of the words I'd use to describe you. You are clever and funny and well spoken. And you've made me laugh more in our brief acquaintance, than anyone I've talked to in a month. So the next time that someone," his expression hardened, "some _guy_, tells you that you're boring him, or that your opinions are stupid and he doesn't want to hear them, you tell him to shove it up his ass," he squeezed her fingers, "okay?"

When she'd told him out in the park that he was one of the few 'nice' guys that she'd met, he'd found that hard to believe. She was just so pretty and personable, how could she not have a line of men . . . of ALL stripes . . . beating down her door?

But now, as he saw the tears begin pooling in her eyes, that idea didn't seem so farfetched at all. She'd clearly been hurt.

A lot.

And for some reason that really pissed him off.

Emily tried to hurriedly blink away the tears forming in her eyes . . . must be PMS'ing or something. Either that . . . she sniffled slightly . . . or this was the sweetest guy she'd ever met.

Okay . . . her breath caught as he reached up to catch a stray tear that she felt spill onto her cheek . . . yeah, he was the sweetest guy that she'd ever met.

"I'm sorry," Aaron whispered as he pulled his fingertips away, "I didn't mean to make you cry."

And he should not have touched her that way . . . that intimately. But he couldn't help it. Not when he'd realized that she was crying again because of something that he'd said.

Maybe he was the one that needed to keep his mouth shut.

"No," Emily sniffled again as she gave him a watery smile, "no, it's okay. You're just being nice. And I think I'm just," she shook her head, "probably still a little worked up from earlier."

Yeah . . . she took a few quick breaths to get her emotions under control . . . let's go with that. But seriously . . . she took another deep breath as she wiped the corner of her eye . . . they were in the middle of the BANK for God's sake!

_Time to get it together Prentiss!_

So when she looked back up again, she made sure to give Aaron a bright . . . genuine . . . smile.

"I'm good now. And thank you," she squeezed his hand, "for what you said. That was very sweet."

And then . . . not wanting to get into anything deeper . . . anything else that could make her cry . . . Emily shifted her gaze . . . and attention . . . up to the teller counters. And that's when she noticed the open space . . . almost a four foot gap . . . separating them from the four customers in line in front of them.

At least three of those people had moved up since she'd last been paying attention.

"Oh," she spun around to apologize to the people waiting behind them, "I'm sorry."

Though unintentional, holding up the line was a bit embarrassing.

But then when she saw the two men closest to them roll their eyes, right before one of them muttered, "women," Emily felt that burn of embarrassment hit just a little harder. Hit her right in the gut.

Why did people have to be like that? Why couldn't anyone ever just be nice?

Why was that so hard?

And she wanted to say something to them . . . to that man in particular, to ask him those questions.

To watch him maybe squirm a bit as she waited for his answers.

But that just wasn't her way.

Instead she just swallowed as she turned to move forward again. She was going to suck it up.

As usual.

But then she felt Aaron's hand on her back.

"No harm done Emily," Aaron said loudly while shuffling Emily forward, "it's not like they were going anywhere that we weren't going first."

Dickheads. Seriously, if not for the fact that he didn't want to get kicked out of the bank before depositing his check, he would have happily gotten into that guy's face for the smart remark.

Why couldn't they just be nice to her? Why was that so hard?

And now he was definitely starting to see what she'd meant about nice guys and not nice guys. It was strange suddenly looking at the world from the viewpoint . . . not of a married man . . . but now of a single girl.

He had no idea that there were so many assholes in the world.

And as he felt another wave of protectiveness come over him, Aaron decided to do something REALLY stupid . . . he let his arm snake back around Emily's waist.

This time he had no 'safety precaution' reasoning to fall back on. This time he didn't even try to justify it to himself. He'd simply done it because he didn't like the way those men had treated her. And he didn't like the slump he could see in her shoulders because of that treatment.

It made him feel bad.

And he really needed to get out of the damn bank before he did something even stupider . . . like give her a hug.

They'd already set the 'no funny business' rule, so a hug would just CLEARLY send her a wrong signal.

Plus it would definitely be WELL over the acceptable line of married man behavior.

Still though, he couldn't quite let it go yet. Because that little sparkle from earlier . . . the one that made him happy . . . was gone from her eyes.

And he wanted it back.

So he tipped his head down to whisper in her ear. "Do you want me to say something to him?"

If it would make her feel better, he would . . . he would tell the guy he was a dick and that he wasn't even good enough to _speak_ to her, let alone to think that he could speak to her like that. And then he'd make him apologize for being rude and making her feel badly about herself.

He'd be happy to do those things . . . and perhaps knock the guy on his ass if he said anything back to him . . . but it just needed to wait one minute.

He needed to get rid of the fifteen thousand dollars first.

Feeling a bit of protective shelter from Aaron's presence . . . something that she didn't usually have out in the world . . . Emily found herself leaning into his side. Then she shook her head.

"No," she shot him a little smile, "thanks though."

God was she starting to hate his wife.

Seeing that Emily's spirit was looking a bit lighter . . . but still hoping to get that sparkle back again . . . Aaron decided to do a little something to move things along.

Yes, it was going to be flat out flirting . . . but it would be flirting with good cause.

He was doing God's work!

"No problem." He whispered back with a slow wink and a single dimple. And when he saw her lips begin to twitch . . . and then that little crinkle around her eyes . . . he was ridiculously proud of himself.

Almost there.

"You're supposed to keep those things holstered," Emily huffed as she poked Aaron in the side, "they're dangerous."

The man wasn't going to be happy until he'd RUINED her for all other men!

Though at this point . . . she started to giggle as he suggestively waggled first one . . . and then the other . . . brow at her . . . he didn't really have far to go.

It was going to be a while . . . she grinned at him . . . until somebody else was going to turn her head like Aaron Hotchner had.

She saw many months of celibacy ahead of her.

Seeing that sparkle had finally returned . . . all it took was him making faux suggestive faces at her . . . Aaron gave Emily a squeeze.

"You feel better now?" He asked with a little smile.

"Uh huh," she nodded happily as she fought off the little sting in her eyes, "thanks."

Yeah, she was ruined.

"No thanks needed," Aaron brushed off the gratitude, "I'm a public servant, I'm here to serve. And now," he craned his neck to see what the holdup was on the line, "if we could just get out of here, then we could get some damn lunch."

Though they had started out with a decent line in front of him, Aaron really couldn't see why they still hadn't reached the front of it.

For God's sake they had FIVE teller stations open!

So what was taking so . . .

And then his eyes suddenly widened as the rest of his thought was lost in a flood of new ones.

A flood of bad ones.

Something had just caught his attention. Something not good. And as his respirations began to increase, he let his agitated gaze float further around the open space of the bank.

And then something else caught his attention. And his level of alarm . . . which had already been on an escalating path to Code Red . . . spiked clear through the roof.

Fuck.

"Emily," he whispered while pulling her closer into his side, "we're going to leave now."

Please don't question me on this!

"What?" Emily blinked as Aaron suddenly turned them around and started cutting back around the other patrons, "why?"

They'd already been standing there for almost ten minutes. What was another three?

But then suddenly she took note of the tension in his body . . . and the fact that he was ignoring her question . . . and she realized that something had happened.

Something was wrong.

And feeling a little kick of adrenaline . . . his nerves were catching . . . she leaned up to hiss in his ear.

"What did you see?" She asked anxiously, "What's wrong? I promise not to freak out. Just tell me."

She was having flashbacks to her days living in the embassies.

It was not a good feeling.

Though Aaron didn't want to stop and chat . . . there was absolutely no time for that . . . he also knew it wasn't right to keep Emily in the dark either.

And she didn't seem the type to panic, so that wasn't really a concern.

But besides that . . . he slipped them out of the last curve of the ropes . . . she'd probably be more cooperative moving towards the door if she knew what was happening. As of now her steps were dragging against his.

And that was because she didn't understand what was happening.

So he pressed his lips back to her ear . . . if anyone else heard what he said, it was definitely going to cause a panic.

"The man at the third window," he murmured, "has a gun."

Feeling Emily's body go rigid next to him, Aaron bit his lip.

"I know," he soothed, "that's bad. But what's worse is that he has a friend. Don't look, but he's at two o'clock. So we're just going to go outside and tell one of the fifty or so Secret Service agents standing thirty feet away, what's happening in here." He spared her a quick look.

"Okay?"

Emily gave a quick jerk of her head.

"Okay."

Shit, shit, SHIT! Why did she have LUCK like this?

Okay Em . . . she took a shallow breath . . . just calm down, and keep your head. You've been in worse situations than this. Aaron's right . . . she slowly exhaled . . . all you guys have to do is walk out the door.

Just stay cool.

"Good," Aaron let out a slight huff, "now can you think of a way to make us not look quite so conspicuous running out."

Though he didn't think the number two man had noticed them yet, clearly he was going to be watching for any unusual behavior.

And him dragging Emily out the door in the crook of his arm probably counted as 'unusual.'

And yes . . . Aaron felt a dig in his chest as he passed an elderly couple . . . he did feel like absolute SHIT leaving all of these other people in here with whatever was about to happen. But . . . he tightened his hold on Emily . . . the best . . . most _responsible_ . . . thing to do, was tell somebody with a badge that there was a problem.

And neither he nor Emily fell into that category.

Though he had to give Emily some major respect for solving their 'conspicuous flight' issue. She'd stepped right up.

She was now covering for their hasty exit by clutching her stomach as she moaned in pain.

Under other circumstances . . . and without of course his marital entanglement . . . he would have happily smacked a kiss on her lips.

The girl could definitely think on her feet!

And he could see that their exit was finally coming up . . . the revolving door was just ten paces away . . . when suddenly there was a body blocking their path.

They froze.

"Is there a problem here, sir?"

It was one of the security guards.

SHIT!

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Oooh, plot twist! Yeah, it was always going to be a bank robbery :) Because I didn't really see a simple 'run in' as being notable enough to actual wind their respective paths together._

_And, fun trivia fact for fans of the Girl'verse, you already know who one of the bank robbers is! My only hint (beyond it not being a member of the team) is the reminder that the year is 1993. That is a date that has been specifically referenced in a chapter of Girl proper. And once you remember when the year was mentioned, you'll know who it is. But I'll be very impressed if anyone gets it off the top of their head :) Otherwise, I'll let you know next time around!_

_As to all the touchy, touchy stuff, this is the Girl'verse, and this is a much younger, open, version of them. I see Aaron (without all the Hotch armor and FBI regs) being more immediately attracted to Emily here. Because even in Girl, when they met at her mom's he was taken with her, she made a lasting impression, but then their paths separated again. This time they won't ;)_

_If the FF login continues to be cooperative, I should have another update in a few days. Not here, elsewhere._

_And thanks for all the support kids! Without you it would just be me and my cat reading this stuff, and he prefers non-fiction :)_


	4. A Single Pane of Glass

**Author's Note**: Direct continuation of the scene. And please note the new website announcement!

Also, we're changing from the 'boy/girl' chapter themes, because well, if I continued we'd have to give away all plot points as we went along :)

**Other Accounts:**

_**NEW WEBSITE: www . fractured-reality . com**_

_**I have a new website. If interested, you can read more about it (and my future on FF . net) on my Tumblr listed below. It's the June 10**__**th**__** note.**_

_**Twitter: ffsienna27 **__– For story announcements, etc. If the alerts, (or the site), are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings. There's also random randomness that is my brain._

_**Tumblr: sienna27 **__– More randomness._

_**Tumblr: cmfanficprompts **__– Just as the name describes. Jointly run with Kavi Leighanna. _

* * *

><p><strong>Prompt Set #2 (June 2010)<strong>

Author: Elizabeth George

Title Challenge: A Moment on the Edge

* * *

><p><strong>A Single Pane Of Glass<strong>

Aaron's jaw tightened. Then he tipped his head slightly to the side as his fingertips dug into Emily's hip. He could feel her shaking slightly under his arm.

The sensation made his gut ache.

Because in the hour since they'd first met, he had become quite attached . . . and possessive . . . of this woman that he did not know. And he hated that she was scared. And he hated that she was in danger. But what he hated most of all, was that he didn't know how the hell he was going to her out of this situation that was bordering on full blown catastrophe.

But he needed to keep trying.

"My wife isn't feeling well," he answered the guard as evenly as he could, "so, if you'll just excuse us," he continued while trying to sidestep the other man, "she needs to get some air."

Though he wanted to simply scream "get the FUCK out of the way!" unfortunately that wasn't an option. They needed to not draw any ADDITIONAL attention to themselves.

It was bad enough that the guard had stopped them.

People were looking.

And now . . . Aaron bit back a growl . . . it appeared as though circumstances were about to get even worse. Because rather than simply letting them go . . . because really what FRIGGING business of his was it that they were leaving the bank(!) . . . the guard had just shifted his complete attention over to Emily.

And he looked concerned.

"What's the problem ma'am?"

For a split second Aaron was afraid that Emily was going to choke up . . . after all she was obviously frightened, and they were COMPLTELY winging it . . . but the woman must have spent some time in drama class. Or else she'd been exposed to some incredibly bitchy girls in high school, because the look she shot the guard was perfect.

The withering, put upon, rich girl.

It was exactly what they needed.

"The_ problem_," Emily answered the guard crisply as her clammy hand tightened over Aaron's, "is that _I_ have morning sickness, and _you_ are standing between me and the exit. So," she improvised a little theatrical clutch of her stomach, "unless you'd like to have my breakfast tossed all over your shoes, I suggest that you get out of my way," her voice hitched up a notch, "now!"

Though she felt a kind of bad playing mega bitch to this poor guy who was just trying to be nice to her . . . he barely looked old enough to shave, let alone guard a bank . . . mostly she was using the misdirection to cover over her own rising panic and fear.

It was just a bonus that an obnoxious bluster seemed to be the best . . . fastest . . . way of making this man lose interest in helping her.

And sure enough, the guard immediately jumped back . . . obviously trying to clear the imaginary splash zone that she'd just intimated was forthcoming.

"Oh yes, right, okay," he croaked from a few feet back while hastening to point them towards the exit, "there you go."

"Thank you," Hotch muttered back tightly as he started moving them forward again.

YES! Just ten paces to go!

They had gotten three steps closer to the door . . . still seven shy . . . when Aaron decided to risk a quick glance across the bank.

What he saw made his stomach drop.

The man that he had identified as the second gunman . . . he was watching them. And it was obvious to Aaron, that this man did not like what he saw. His eyes were narrowed, and his fingers were tapping a rapid beat on his belt buckle.

And then they made eye contact.

And though Aaron tried to appear disinterested . . . there was no time to simply look away . . . he knew that the shit had just the fan. Because when their gazes had locked, the man's eyes had widened.

And now he was reaching under his coat.

Seeing that, a fresh shot of adrenaline flooded Aaron's body.

Oh Jesus . . . he half yanked Emily off the ground . . . their time was officially up!

And that's when everything around him started to slow down.

Even as he began dragging Emily to the door, hissing in her ear to "run!" the gunman was racing across the cavernous lobby.

"YOU TWO!" He yelled while yanking the gun from under his jacket, "STOP!"

Though Aaron was pulling her the other way, Emily couldn't stop herself from spinning around at the command.

Her heart slammed into her throat as she saw not just the one armed robber coming at them, but two others also yanking out weapons. Both shotguns and handguns.

They were armed for a siege.

And as she felt Aaron still trying to drag her to the door, those other two men were yelling at the bank customers to get down, to get on the floor.

To shut the hell up.

And now there were barely four yards separating them from the man screaming for them to stop.

And as the fear and panic began to wash over the crowd . . . they were like frightened animals about to stampede . . . all Emily could do was drop her jaw. Her dominant emotion wasn't panic . . . it was disbelief.

This was NOT happening! Not HERE! They were finally out of the Middle East! She was home!

She was supposed to be SAFE at home!

These ridiculously unhelpful thoughts were threatening to overwhelm her cognitive reasoning . . . as were the memories of the last time her world had gone completely to shit . . . but then Aaron suddenly gave her a hard shove.

Her purse hit the ground as she went flying towards the door.

And that's when her brain started working again.

"GO!" Aaron screamed at her, "GET OUT EMILY! GO!"

Now that she was back and again processing the moment, the panic finally started to flood Emily's body. Because she didn't want to leave Aaron there . . . she despised the very thought of it . . . but it didn't seem that she was going to have any choice in the matter. Because he had hurled her right at the revolving frame. And the momentum of the push was such that it would take more of her energy to turn back than it would to keep going.

So it looked like she was going into the doorway whether she liked it or not.

But just then she heard the other voice again . . . the one that had been screaming at them to stop.

That voice was now right behind her.

"YOU DO IT BITCH AND I PUT A BULLET IN HIS HEAD!"

Emily's palms slammed flat against the glass.

SHIT!

The words were a cry in her head as her eyes immediately flooded with tears. And then slowly . . . she knew what she was going to see . . . she turned her head.

And there . . . as expected . . . was Aaron.

There was a gun barrel pressed against his temple.

At that point . . . all around them . . . chaos had begun to reign. It was hard to believe that mere seconds had been passing. Ten.

Perhaps fifteen.

The other two men were still screaming at the crowd to shut up. But those calls were falling on deaf ears. Instead the lobby was echoing with the sound of one woman's high pitched wail . . . and the din of a crowd that realized a living nightmare had just begun for them.

The kind that you usually just see on TV.

And as Emily's eyes burned, her gaze became entangled with that of her new friend's. It didn't matter that she had just met this man, he had already become someone that she cared about.

Someone that she didn't want to see have his brains splashed all over the shiny marble floor.

But Aaron seemed oblivious to her wishes.

His previously soft and intelligent eyes, were now wild . . . and they were locked onto hers.

"KEEP **GOING **EMILY!"

The words were screamed in desperation.

But she couldn't keep going. She was the only one in the bank that close to the door . . . the only one in a position to run out and get help, if help wasn't already on its way. . . but she couldn't leave Aaron to get shot in the head.

It just wasn't happening.

It didn't matter that they had only known each other an hour. It didn't even matter that they knew each other at all. What _mattered_ was that in the next five seconds, a bullet would . . . or would not . . . be fired in direct correlation to her personal actions. And she wasn't going to have anyone die because of something that she did.

She'd never be able to live with that.

So though she knew that the needs of the many dictated that she try and make a run for it . . . to duck down and jump into the spinning glass enclosure . . . instead she raised her hands above her head.

And then she stepped away from the panel of the glass door.

"Okay," she said quietly with her watery eyes still locked onto Aaron's horrified ones, "I stopped. Now please," her gaze snapped over to the gunman's, "please don't shoot him. You don't need to do that. You can let him go now. Please," she continued pleading softly, "please, let him go."

Logic would say that letting him go was the wise choice. A murder here would be a capital offense. A federal crime.

But these didn't seem to be very wise men.

After all, they'd chosen to rob a bank situated in the middle of one of the most secure blocks of real estate on the planet. And any way you cut it . . . she swallowed . . . that was pretty fucking stupid.

And she could see simply from the ages of these men . . . probably somewhere between her and Aaron . . . that they weren't old enough to be career criminals. But still . . . her fingers dug into her palms . . . this man in particular . . . this man with the gun pressed against Aaron's skull . . . there was a hardness in his eyes.

One that frightened her.

And it was frightening her more that he wasn't pulling the gun away.

The nose was still pointed right at Aaron's temple . . . and through years of weapons training with her father, she knew . . . that safety was off.

Just as she opened her mouth again . . . to again plead for mercy . . . the sound of a gunshot cut through the din surrounding them. Warm blood splattered onto Emily's face and body.

She screamed.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I know it wasn't a terribly long chapter, but, it was done! Done to a point that it could be posted, and a posting at least moves the story forward :) And I've been so wrapped in getting the new website up and running that for a couple weeks I couldn't do ANY new writing. So I figured now that I had time again, even short chapters were better than no chapters. So we'll just move along from here : )<em>

_Otherwise, if you haven't seen it yet, please do check out the new website. Aside from myself and the other admins (Kavi Leighanna and The Truth Between) we've got about 16 members so far. And if you're also looking for some refuge from ff . net and their newly enforced 'hey let's delete stories & accounts!' policies, you're welcome to set up an account as well for a backup location._

_Also, new prompts are up on the Tumblr listed at the top. FF has been so twitchy lately we've shifted to that as a posting location._

_Thanks for the feedback everyone! And thank you all who passed along alternate posting locations for me! Again, though, as outlined above, I settled on just doing my own site :)_


	5. A Rush of Blood to the Head

**Author's Note:** Picking up from Emily getting hit with the bloody spray.

* * *

><p><strong>Prompt Set #19 (February 2012)<strong>

Author: Sue Grafton

Title Challenge: "R" Is For Ricochet

* * *

><p><strong>A Rush of Blood to the Head<strong>

Aaron threw himself forward, catching the screaming and blood spattered Emily around the waist.

They fell to the ground in a heap, with him on top of her, as her head . . . again . . . cracked down onto the unforgiving marble floor. Even with the din of the full blown hysteria now surrounding them, the sound was audible.

And it was sickening.

But unfortunately there was no time for him to check her injury, or even to ask her if she was all right. Not with the hail of gunfire that was still flying in their direction.

The first bullet had ripped through the throat of the gunman who had been holding him hostage. Aaron wasn't sure if he was quite dead yet, but he was definitely no longer posing any threat.

He'd dropped where he stood.

And though that first shot had clearly been intended to save them . . . it had to have been . . . these subsequent ones were not. And some part of Aaron's frazzled, panic stricken brain also processed that the first shot sounded like it had come from far away, though he knew that these latter ones were coming from a much closer distance.

These bullets were whizzing right over his head.

One . . . then two in quick succession . . . and then a fourth.

And a fifth.

They were coming slow enough to count, but not slow enough for him to risk trying to grab Emily and make a run to the revolving door.

They'd never make it.

As it was now . . . he winced . . . the bullets were mostly going high, just smashing into the concrete pillars and spraying dust into the air. But with his head down, he had no idea exactly who was doing the shooting . . . or who the hell they were shooting _at_. Because nothing about the way they were firing, made any sense.

Because nobody was firing back.

At least not as far as he knew. And he and Emily certainly weren't armed. So if they were the targets . . . if somebody was trying to kill them now just on the principle of blaming them for what happened to their friend . . . then why the hell didn't they just run up and put a bullet directly into their skulls?

Any other approach seemed a waste of ammo.

Just then somebody else started shooting. Aaron knew it was a new shooter, because it was a new gun.

A shotgun.

His fingers clenched into his palms. The echo of the blast was terrifying. And then there was a scream of pain, and then a woman sobbing and screaming.

Screaming that her hand was gone.

And though Aaron's (idiotic) instinct was to want to go her . . . this public service bent of his really was a pain in the ASS at times(!) . . . in all honestly, he was too terrified to move.

Besides that though . . . he tucked his head down tighter against Emily's, feeling her body shaking against his, and hearing her whimper in his ear . . . he already had someone to look after.

He couldn't take on another.

Suddenly there was the sound of glass was shattering, and Aaron's heart leapt into his throat.

CHRIST!

From the distance . . . and the blast of warm air . . . he was pretty sure it was the window just ahead of them and to the right. It had blown inwards.

Shards of glass had flown everywhere. There were more screams of pain. More cries for help.

And that's when relative chaos became complete insanity.

It was like a domino fell. The windows all around them were imploding. There was a hiss . . . probably gas canisters . . . and then a haze was filling the air.

It smelled . . . but it didn't burn.

Just a smoke bomb, Aaron deduced. Still though, it was going to irritate the membranes. So he snapped his eyes shut while hissing at Emily to close hers tight, and not to open them . . . or her mouth . . . until he said so.

From the violent jerk of her head, he was fairly she was nodding an 'okay.'

So he buried his face against her neck, while fumbling to loosely cover her mouth and nose with his hand. With the windows blown out, he knew that the smoke would dissipate soon enough, but until then it would be best to keep as much it out of their respiratory systems as he could.

He'd read enough after action reports to know that shit wasn't good to breath in.

Not that it seemed to be doing anything to slow down the gunmen.

He wasn't sure if they had masks, or were now just blindly firing into the open air, but once the smoke arrived, the bullets . . . and shot gun shells . . . had started coming fast and furious.

They were definitely emptying clips.

And Aaron was relatively sure that they weren't the only ones shooting. Of course from his position . . . blind, and half deaf from all the noise . . . he couldn't be positive, but it seemed like there was a crossfire now.

Whoever was outside . . . whatever agencies . . . they were firing in.

And that's when Aaron remembered that the Secret Service had snipers on the roof of the White House. So unlike any other bank siege, this one required no 'response time' for emergency units to arrive. They didn't have to be called in from other parts of the city, and then find their positions and coordinate their assault. Everybody was already here.

The Secret Service was all around them.

And as far as _they_ knew . . . Aaron's teeth dug into his lip as a piece of glass sliced into his arm . . . this could be an attack on the president . . . or the Treasury. The Treasury was even closer to the bank than the residence.

So they weren't going to hold anything back.

In fact, thinking about it . . . and he had nothing to do _but_ think, and pray . . . he was sure that all they'd needed was that first shot heard inside the bank, to start mobilizing. That bullet probably implemented a plan that they'd drilled a thousand times before. And then that bullet through the glass had kicked all the rest of it into action.

Now it sounded like a war zone.

Because the gunmen in the bank . . . whichever ones were still left, God only knew . . . they'd clearly decided to go with a full on firefight. Even with the smoke, they were cursing and screaming and firing clip after clip.

Seriously, MINUTES were passing!

And at least two . . . now three . . . other people had been shot. Aaron could hear the yelps and then the screams. It was horrible.

And though the faintly acrid smell in the air seemed to be clearing, still he kept his eyes screwed shut.

There were no visual memories there that he wanted to keep.

And some small part of Aaron's brain . . . the part that wasn't ready to piss his pants, the part that built criminal cases and cared about such things as reason and motive . . . vaguely wondered if maybe this really _was_ a terrorist attack that they'd stumbled into.

It was entirely possible.

After all, they'd just had one in New York a couple months ago. They'd attacked the World Trade Center. That was a car bomb, he didn't know what the hell this was. But really, what else could this be _but_ political? Could anyone honestly be so fucking IDIOTIC as to pick THIS bank on THIS corner of THIS city, simply to _ROB_?!

They might as well have taken a shot at the president directly. The response was going to be the same. Hitting this bank as a heist, it was a suicide run. These people were always going out in body bags.

And that plan looked to be coming to fruition.

And in the midst of all that screaming and gunfire, and Emily's continued . . . and quiet . . . sobbing in his ear, the stupidest thought kept bouncing around inside Aaron's terrified brain.

He didn't want to die on his birthday.

A trivial point really, it would be no better to die tomorrow or the day after, but for some reason this trivial point seemed to matter. He needed to not die _today_. It would be so pathetic. A tragic cliché. In his mind he could already see the newspaper, the picture and the headline.

The embarrassment of it all.

And after all these years of locking up violent criminals, and all of the SHIT that he had lived through in his youth, he was not going to go down as a HOOK for the evening news!

He wouldn't allow it.

So though the fight or flight extinct was foolishly screaming at him to run far and fast . . . his adrenaline was PULSATING through him . . . he kept his body flat, and still. His head low, and tucked. His left cheek remained pressed against Emily's right one. And even with his hand half covering her mouth, her breath was hot and ragged in his ear.

Just as he was sure his was in hers.

It was funny . . . and terrible . . . that you could experience the same sensation of intimacy while waiting to die, that you did while you were making love. And though Emily's shaking had gotten better, she hadn't been able to stop crying.

He could feel her tears running against his skin.

They were drying on his neck.

With his free hand . . . the one not covering her mouth . . . he fumbled to find hers where it had gotten trapped between them. It all he could think to do. And the air had cleared enough that he felt like he could open his mouth and speak.

Though the taste left on his tongue was a bit acrid.

"It has to end soon," he murmured, with only a faint tremor of his voice, "we just have to stay down until the Secret Service gets control." He finally found her fingers, and wound them through his. "We'll be okay." He continued softly. Then he pressed his lips to her ear.

"Say it."

Emily bit down on her lip, trying to stop her tears. They weren't doing anybody any good. Especially given that Aaron was trying to make her feel better.

At least as best he could.

And she felt yet another pull for this man. They were barely acquaintances, and still he was protecting her as though she was someone that mattered to him. She knew that he would have been safer . . . or at least lower down . . . if he had rolled off of her and onto the floor. But instead he had stayed where he was, appointing himself as her human shield.

A girl could fall in love with a man like that.

So she sucked in a shallow . . . gasping . . . breath, and whispered back the words that he wanted her to say.

"Right," she bit down on her lip, "we'll be okay."

And though she knew from the squeeze of her fingers, and the whisper of "good girl" that Aaron was pleased by her response . . . she wasn't.

Though she couldn't have denied him his request . . . she couldn't have denied this man anything then . . . with so many people screaming, possibly dying, and so many guns firing, the words felt hollow. False.

Lies.

Because she knew that just one stray bullet, one ricochet, and she was dead. And she didn't want to die a liar. So she added something more to the words that she'd already spoken. She added the truth.

"I'm really scared."

Though she tried to keep her voice steady, the sob still broke through at the end. And then she felt Aaron squeeze her hand again.

"Yeah," Aaron swallowed, "me too."

And he left it that. Because that was the truth. And with his arm bleeding and his body shaking, and his heart pounding, he just didn't have anything more to say.

There was nothing more to say.

Because he had no idea when this would all be over.

Time around them seemed to have frozen . . . yet everything was still happening. It was like someone pressed pause on a VCR, and now they were stuck in a terrible scene from some crappy action movie.

And they had no way of getting out of it.

They were waiting for someone to fast forward, to just get to the end of the damn scene!

Wait . . . his ears perked up . . . there were more sirens rolling up outside. Most likely back-up arriving from other agencies and departments.

And now there was more shouting from out there . . . and then more crying from in here.

And more bullets from everywhere.

So many bullets. It was like all of these people had shown up to fight a war, and nobody told the civilians to get out of the way before the shooting started. But of course that was always how battles were waged.

By people who wanted no part of them.

Finally though, it seemed that the crossfire at least had ended. And then again the dominant noise came from outside. It was a call of "CEASEFIRE!"

It echoed twice down the line.

And then the bullets stopped completely.

And though Aaron wasn't yet ready to open his eyes, he knew in his gut that the gunmen in the bank had to all be either dead, or out of ammo.

Because they sure as hell wouldn't have all stopped just because people with badges told them to.

And though someone had FINALLY taken their scene off Pause, for another moment Aaron lay there on top of Emily, listening to the moans and sobs of the injured. Vaguely, he wondered if any of them were victims of friendly fire.

Then he realized that was a question for another day.

And it was a question that would be asked by people a hell of a lot more important than him.

Then suddenly even the worst of the pained sobbing was being drowned out by the sounds of dozens of pairs of boots pounding across the marble, and crunching over the broken glass. Police radios were crackling around them.

They were saved.

Officially anyway.

Slowly, Aaron opened his eyes. There was a slight burning sensation from the remnants of the acrid smoke. But even in the haze still clearing, he could see what was directly in front of him. And what was directly in front of him was Emily.

The curve of her cheek, the shell of her ear . . . the curl of her hair where it was tacky with fresh blood.

Blood.

His eyes popped.

OH JESUS!

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: If you were expecting the hostage element here to go on longer with more twists and turns, sorry. Remember, this story wasn't about a bank robbery, it was just about how they met and why the circumstances bonded them in a way that a simple 'pretty girl slips on her high heels,' wouldn't have. And really, if I was going for a full big bang, bank hostage tale, I could have done at least a dozen chapters on that alone :) _

_And if you're wondering just how irresponsible it would be for the Secret Service to fire into a bank full of hostages, please wait for the post-game wrap up to find out exactly what was happening :) Because remember right now all you have are Aaron's impressions. Impressions he got with his eyes closed._

_The first attack on The World Trade Center, really did take place just a few months before this story takes place. So even though back then a terrorist attack still wasn't the average American's 'first' presumption when something terrible happened, idea of it being a possibility, had entered our culture._

_I actually have three more pages for this scene already written, so we'll see if I can get them up this coming weekend. _


	6. Injuries & Inferences

**Author's Note**: I was going to put this up last night, then I added something, which messed something else up, and I had to re-read the whole page, and yada yada, twenty-fours later, here we are.

Direct continuation from the scene.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Injuries &amp; Inferences<strong>

Not only was there blood in Emily's hair, but her eyes were still closed. And now in a fresh panic, a fresh new hell, Aaron fumbled simultaneously to pat her cheek, and check the pulse on her neck.

"EMILY!" he yelled at her, "EMILY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?! OPEN YOUR EYES!"

Though those pretty brown eyes stayed shut . . . and she didn't respond in any way to the sound of his voice . . . as he felt the slow and steady thump of her blood pumping beneath his fingertips, Aaron was at least able to suck in a ragged breath of air.

_Thank Christ! At least she was alive!_

And then his head snapped up, and even while his body was still straddling Emily's supine one, he started waving at the agents and officers swarming through the bank.

"DOJ!" He hollered, scrambling to lift the lanyard off his chest with one hand as he pointed down at Emily with the other, "SHE'S BADLY HURT, AND SHE'S WITH ME!"

Not that her association with him, and by extension his association with the Justice Department, should have mattered . . . not with so many people around them screaming in pain . . . but he knew that it would. Because he was one of them. A member of law enforcement. And law enforcement followed the same rule as everyone else in the world.

They took care of their own, first.

And he'd just made Emily one of them too. Which meant that when it came to medical attention . . . he made another desperate wave as a half dozen heads turned in their direction . . . she would now be put at the head of the line.

He felt no guilt about that.

And his yelling definitely got him the attention that they needed. Though to his consternation, the specific officer that came running across the marble floor . . . a woman from the Secret Service uniformed division . . . still had her weapon out and was yelling for him to stay down. So he again yelled, "DOJ!" while waving his credentials in the air. The woman ended up stopping short two feet away.

Her weapon fell down to the side.

"Aaron Hotchner," he frantically identified himself, "I'm an Assistant U.S. Attorney over at Justice!" Then he gestured first to Emily, and then to the door, "she's unconscious and her head's bleeding, badly! I think she might have been shot! We need a paramedic, NOW!"

And that was enough to get the wheels moving.

With a "right, right," the officer turned and started frantically calling into the radio on her wrist.

Once Aaron was sure that medical attention was on its way . . . not only had the woman radioed in the call that they had somebody from the DOJ down with a possible head shot (a small, only partial lie that again caused him to feel no guilt), but she'd also run over to the blasted out doorway and started yelling for someone to get an ETA on the ambulances . . . his full attention shifted back down to Emily.

His eyes were tracking over the blood in her hair, looking for the specific wound to see if there was anything that he could do. But then he realized that they had a much bigger problem . . . bigger even than a possible bullet to the brain. Because she was bleeding so badly that there was already a small pool of blood spreading out just beneath her head. His gut twisted at the crimson puddle.

Oh God . . . his teeth ground together . . . that was bad. That was so very, VERY bad!

"_Emily_," he began to frantically plead, while simultaneously gliding the fingers of his free hand along her hairline, trying to feel for the wound that he couldn't see, "_please_ wake up now . . ." he bit his lip and finished on a whisper, "please don't die on my birthday."

When he was praying to live through today, to not die on the same day that he was born, it had never occurred to him that he might have been offering her up to the gods instead. And now he would give anything to take that prayer back. Because on some level he felt like this was his fault.

Karma was a fickle, FICKLE bitch!

But just then . . . as his anger started to rise up . . . his fingers pressed into a distorted lump towards the back of Emily's skull. He blanched.

OH CHRIST!

He yanked his hand away. And though he had no medical training beyond a mandatory CPR certification, now that he'd found it, he knew that he had to do something about the wound. If the skull was that distended, and the blood loss was bad enough for it to be pooling on the floor, it was very possible that she could bleed out before the EMTs even arrived, forget about actually GETTING her to the hospital!

So while he was sucking in a breath to try and steady his nerves . . . he was praying that this was the right move, that he wouldn't injure her further . . . he very gingerly, being as careful as he could to keep her neck straight, lifted her head up from the cold floor.

Then he twisted his own body down so he could see better.

And though he had mentally braced himself, as best he could anyway, for grey matter to be on the marble beneath her, when he tipped his head way down, all he could see was blood. And fortunately the pool here . . . though "pools" of blood were always bad . . . wasn't nearly as large as it had appeared to be. He was now realizing that perhaps it had spread out more, by soaking through the long strands of hair.

It had given her a crown of blood beyond the basic shape of her head.

Okay . . . Aaron slowly exhaled . . . so that was at least a little bit encouraging. She wasn't 'gushing' blood. Still, he needed to figure out an approach here on what to do.

Bullet wounds had not been covered in the CPR class!

And then as he continued to stare down at the sticky red floor, his palm gently cradling Emily's skull, suddenly Aaron flashed on something from earlier. Their fall. When he'd pushed her out of the way of the first shots, he'd heard her head hit the floor.

Hard.

So hard in fact that at the time the sound had made him feel sick . . . but then gunfire and glass and general hysteria and fear of death, had pushed that singular moment from his mind. But now that it had come roaring back again, Aaron's mounting despair over Emily's head trauma . . . that it was most surely from a stray bullet . . . began to get pushed aside by a flicker of hope.

He tried to run with it.

Okay . . . he slowly exhaled while very, _very_ gently moving to put her head back down on the floor . . . so maybe there wasn't any bullet at all. Maybe she was just bleeding from where she'd hit her head. And maybe, by extension, she wasn't unconscious because she was literally_, dying_, maybe it was just that she'd lost so much blood . . . that she'd passed out. He sucked in a breath.

Maybe.

Unfortunately that was a hell of a lot of maybes to string together, but at the moment, it was the best case scenario that he could come up with. And it wasn't at all an implausible scenario either . . . that distorted lump that he'd felt, it could have just been a simple bump, not mangled skull . . . so he was now holding onto that string of maybes for dear life.

His and hers.

Of course this new "best case scenario," still wasn't necessarily a "good scenario" . . . any degree of blood loss resulting in unconsciousness was bad, and any underlying head injury could still be incredibly serious . . . but he was still praying for head bump. Because it was an INFINITELY preferable alternative to the mental image of a piece of lead smashing a hole through her skull, and ripping apart the delicate brain tissue beneath it. That bright and clever mind that had so bewitched him . . . he winced . . . it would be destroyed.

The thought was enough to make him want to throw up.

Which made all of his new 'good' thoughts about 'simple head trauma,' get shoved violently aside. Now he was just feeling a tidal like wave of panic rising. A panic that this girl that he felt so responsible _for_ . . . and inexplicably connected _to_ . . . might really be very seriously injured.

She might be dying right in front of him.

And it no longer felt to him like he'd just known her for an hour. And it no longer felt like to him like he was just going to know her for a day. It felt like he'd known her forever. She'd become a person in his life.

And he didn't want to lose her . . . his jaw set.

He wouldn't.

"Emily," he started frantically tearing off his dress shirt, the buttons bouncing down to the marble floor and rolling away, "you're going to be okay, I promise." Then he once more very carefully lifted her head, this time to place the balled up fabric underneath.

He could see the bit of white fabric sticking out, immediately began to soak through. The color changing to match the dark puddle on the floor.

He had to look away.

And that's when he realized that all around him . . . in the turbulent backdrop which he'd been tuning out . . . so many others were also administering their own jerry rigged first aid. Ties as tourniquets on bullet wounds, and shirts ripped up to staunch blood flowing from all kinds of shrapnel injuries. It was like a war zone.

One with no corpsmen.

Seriously . . . he angrily whipped his head around, searching both the bank and the view through the broken windows . . . where the FUCK were the paramedics?! They were part of the God damn FIRE department! And the FIRE department was usually the first one to show up EVERYWHERE!

And Aaron was just about to yell out, to try and get an ambulance ETA from one of the agents . . . he'd just realized somebody up the line must have had them staging somewhere . . . when suddenly he heard a fresh round of sirens joining the cacophony of noise already surrounding the building. And a second later, one of the plain clothes agents began yelling something into his radio. Aaron's brow wrinkled . . . the man appeared to be sharing statistics of some kind. But he was speaking in a shorthand that he couldn't quite figure out. What the _hell_ was . . . ?!

_PATIENT INJURIES!_

That's what it was! He was sharing the types and numbers of injured. Which meant that the ambulances must be closing in on the scene.

Aaron's head again snapped back, and again his eyes frantically searched through the wide open spaces where the windows had once stood. But unfortunately the view there was still the same as it had been a moment before. The area was filled with emergency vehicles.

But no medical vehicles at all.

But then he saw some of the officers outside pointing to the left, so he turned his head. His eyes widened.

FINALLY!

Ambulances . . . lots and lots of ambulances. He could see them coming up to the corner of 18th Street . . . and then they were being waved through the barricades. There were at least a half dozen of them in his direct line of sight. His eyes fell shut then as his breath came out in one hard exhale.

_Thank you God!_

And from there it was a new kind of frenzy. Yells to "make a hole, make a hole!" as the other vehicles were quickly moved out of the way. And then the first of the ambulances were speeding to a stop out in the street. Doors started slamming, and then off from the side, Aaron could see emergency personnel begin running up to the bank . . . their bags were bouncing on their shoulders. They were moving fast.

Everybody was moving so fast.

All the while Aaron just kept one eye on the door while holding Emily's hand and whispering in her ear. Telling her that she was going to be fine now, and he just needed her to wake up and tell the paramedics where it hurt.

And then they would make her better.

Unfortunately his actions did not actually assist Emily in regaining consciousness . . . be it a bullet or a cracked skull, talking was rarely known to 'fix' either such medical issue . . . but either way, talking to her made him feel better.

And it was something to do besides go out of his mind while they waited.

But finally . . . though really only maybe fifteen, twenty seconds had passed since they'd jumped from their vehicles . . . the first teams of paramedics were rushing in. It was a sea of new faces and uniforms swarming the bank.

Though these uniforms were not carrying guns.

And before Aaron could again call out for help, one of the Secret Service agents . . . the one who had been radioing in their injury statistics . . . was pointing in their direction. Apparently his status as "one of them" had been passed along.

Good.

Still though, Aaron quickly waved his own arm to pinpoint for the two navy clad men now rushing in their direction.

"Here!" He yelled, "it's her head! She hit it really hard on the floor when she fell. But," he shook his own head as the first of the two men dropped to his knees by their side, "she could have been shot too. I don't know what happened just before she passed out. She was talking, and then she was unconscious and there was," he swallowed, his gaze shifting down to her pale skin, "blood in her hair."

As the paramedic muttered back an, "okay, sir," as he started checking Emily's vitals, for the first time since the whole frigging nightmare had started . . . maybe twenty plus minutes earlier . . . Aaron fell back and to the side. It was the first time he'd moved off of Emily's body since they'd hit the ground.

But he was still holding onto her hand.

For some reason it seemed imperative that he not let it go.

Though he tried to at least get fully out of the way so the paramedics could properly check her head injury. But unfortunately it quickly became apparent that neither of these men who were working on her . . . they'd already put her in a collar to minimize spinal trauma . . . were going to be in any better position to confirm exactly what was wrong with Emily, than Aaron himself was. Because when they checked her head, it was clear to them that she had a distended piece of skull, and a bloody spot . . . but they couldn't really tell WHY her head was swollen and what was causing the bleeding.

They needed an X-Ray to figure out what was going on in her brain.

Then he did hear one of them murmur that at least a bullet hole wasn't "readily apparent," but then the other responded that with as much hair as she had, that a small hole could easily be hidden.

So that exchange really did nothing for Aaron's nerves.

The one positive takeaway from their examination versus Aaron's examination, was that the wound, whatever had caused the bleeding, it now at least seemed to be clotting. So once they'd made sure that Emily was stable, and had put in a line in for fluids . . . the one thing it was clear that she needed no matter what . . . one of them yelled for a backboard. Again, Aaron scrambled to get out of the way.

But still he held tight to her hand.

And then thirty, forty seconds later, two other firefighters came in with the backboard. And now with four strange men touching her . . . somehow Aaron instinctively knew how much she would hate this moment . . . Emily's body was lifted up to place the board underneath. But as one of the men started to slide it down, Aaron saw that Emily's dress was caught on the edge of the hard plastic.

The fabric was riding up.

And feeling a stab of protectiveness and panic . . . that after all of the other indignities that she was suffering in this moment, that she would be physically exposed too . . . with his free hand he quickly caught the hem of her skirt, and hurriedly smoothed it back down over her thigh. Then he patted her leg and whispered in her ear.

"It's okay. I fixed it."

Again, he was hoping that she could hear him. And he just wanted her to know . . . he was watching out for her. She didn't have to worry.

She wasn't alone.

And so he stayed right with her as they lifted her up, the wheels locked . . . and they started hurriedly rolling her out to the ambulance.

As they moved through the bank . . . flew through the bank really . . . Aaron couldn't help but take note of the other people that were also desperately in need of medical attention. That poor woman that was missing her hand . . . she was screaming as she held the nub to her chest . . . she was breaking his heart. But she was being helped too, she had her own team of street weary medical professionals at her side.

The problem was, there just weren't enough of them to go around.

There were VERY few people in the bank that hadn't been injured one way or another. Most were walking wounded like him . . . the glass spray had almost everyone . . . but there were many others that definitely had bullet wounds or glass injuries that were going to require a hell of a lot of stiches.

The Secret Service was trying to get some order to the crowd, moving the least seriously injured off to the area by the teller windows.

And part of Aaron . . . that damn civil servant, must save the world, part . . . was thinking that he should stay. That his basic CPR certification, just renewed last fall thank you very much, would at least allow him to help with the triage. But he didn't stay.

He kept going.

Shoving aside the guilt that he had pushed Emily to the front of the pack . . . and he was now leaving the pack behind. But there was no other option. Because the reality of the situation, was like the world itself. Hard and cold.

And these people were just somebody else's problem.

So he stayed with his new friend Emily, who was starting to feel like a very old friend indeed. And with her black leather purse jammed under one arm . . . he'd actually thought to scoop it up when they were lifting her off the floor . . . and her small, delicate fingers still clenched in his larger ones, he ran alongside the gurney as it was pushed off the marble floor and into the alcove leading outside.

The wheels squeaked with the change in floor texture.

And though he was half cringing, waiting for one of the agents to grab him . . . to say that he had to stay and give his statement . . . somehow he slipped out the doors without anybody wearing a badge questioning his departure.

Small mercies indeed.

But then just ahead of him, as he blinked at the bright mid-day sun, Aaron spotted a plainclothes Secret Service agent. He was standing in the middle of the blocked off section of Penn between the bank and the Treasury. The guy wasn't much older than him really, but it became immediately apparent that he was the one taking control of the scene. Barking orders and sending people and vehicles this way and that. And the _second_ that the two of them made eye contact . . . and he summed up what was happening, that they were on their way out . . . Aaron knew that this guy was going to open his mouth.

And sure enough.

"Sir, if you are not severely injured, you are NOT yet cleared to leave the scene!" He yelled.

But Aaron wasn't having any of that shit. Very few times in his life had he EVER followed an order that was barked at him. He generally gave those kinds of orders . . . he didn't take them. So in response he simply yanked his credential from his pants pocket. He'd moved beyond the lanyard having special powers.

He needed the shield.

"DOJ!" he yelled back while flipping his badge open, "and I _am _leaving!"

Though Aaron appreciated the need to try and preserve the scene and witnesses exactly as they were . . . he'd expect no less from the agents who brought him his cases . . . he wasn't staying.

It just wasn't happening.

And so as the agent started to run over, with a hand up to stop him, Aaron used just his thumb to slip one of his business cards out from behind his ID. And while still hurrying along with Emily's gurney . . . the paramedics certainly weren't slowing down, nor would he want them to . . . he blindly shoved the card out towards the agent running up beside him.

"Assistant U.S. Attorney Aaron Hotchner," he continued with a slight breathlessness as he jammed the card into the other man's hand, "I'm assigned here in the District at main headquarters. I report to John Milner in the Fraud Section of the Criminal Division. Somebody can take my statement at the hospital, or I can come back here and give it later. But," his jaw tightened as he shot a look down to Emily's still body, "she'd badly hurt, and I'm _not_ leaving her alone right now."

They had just reached the ambulance, and as the paramedics stopped to open the doors, Aaron looked over to the angry man that wanted him to stay.

The man carrying the gun.

And though ordinarily, in most scenarios, the man carrying the gun would be 'the winner' in ANY duel, anywhere, Aaron had no fear of this man. They worked for sister agencies. It would be a political nightmare if a Secret Service threatened an Assistant U.S. Attorney with a firearm simply because he wanted to give a witness statement at a later time.

The guy would lose his job.

And as their eyes locked, Aaron could see that his opponent was as aware of this fact as he himself was. Because his jaw was twitching and his fist was clenching, and to Aaron it was quite clear that this man was as used to winning these pissing contests, as Aaron himself was. Though still, he had no doubt who was going to take the prize in this skirmish.

And sure enough, a split second later, the other man blinked and jammed the business card into his inside jacket pocket.

"We'll have agents at GWU," he grumbled, "I'm giving them your name. They'll be looking for you." Then he wagged his finger in Aaron's face as he shot him a look, "_do NOT_ leave there without giving the formal statement, are we clear?"

"Yes," Aaron gave a hurried nod as he scrambled up with Emily's stretcher into the back of the ambulance, "I _promise_, I will find them, if they don't find me."

At that, the agent's countenance softened slightly as he put his hand up on the ambulance door.

"Okay." Then his gaze shifted down to Emily . . . Aaron still hadn't let go of her hand.

"Good luck with your wife," he added softly.

Then he slammed the door shut.

For a second Aaron stared at it in confusion, wondering why he would think that she was his wife. But then he realized that his hand . . . the one that was holding Emily's . . . was the one wearing his ring.

As he looked down at that band of gold, now sticky with blood, he felt a faint stirring of unease. Though he wouldn't have thought it was possible, not after all this time, he'd actually forgotten . . . briefly . . . that he was married.

_How does that happen? _

But then the question was lost as the ambulance tore out in a somewhat ragged U-turn. And even though he was already sitting, Aaron reached over with his free hand to steady himself along the side wall.

He could kind of use a seat belt.

And then they bumped over the sidewalk, and the paramedic was sitting in the jump seat up by Emily's head, yelled through the divider to take it easy. Then he turned his head to begin calling in Emily's vitals and their ETA to the hospital, through the radio clipped to his collar. Aaron stared at him for a moment, before his gaze shifted down to Emily's pretty face.

Of course her eyes were still shut.

But noting then, for the first time, the streaks of mascara from her tears, and the smears of blood from where he'd touched her jaw, his expression softened. He reached across her body, his hand hovering for a moment over the supplies in the cabinet fixed to the other wall. Then he saw them.

A box of plain disinfectant wipes.

He snagged one and sat back on the bench seat. Then he put one hand on her arm, and with the other began gently cleaning up her face.

It wasn't a perfect job . . . he really needed soap and water to do it right . . . but he got the worst of it. And once he was done, while carefully avoiding the gaze of the paramedic . . . he could feel the other man's eyes on him, and he had no idea what he was thinking . . . he tucked the soiled wipe into his pants pocket.

Then he once more tangled their fingers together, before sitting back again.

"Are we going to GWU?" He asked quietly, trying to shift the focus away from what he'd just done. Though there was nothing intrinsically 'inappropriate' about his actions . . . all he'd done was clean up her face . . . having those actions assessed by another, was making him feel uncomfortable.

Like he'd done something wrong.

There was silence for moment before he heard a, "yeah, best trauma team on this side of the city. She'll be in good hands. Only a couple of blocks to go."

Aaron nodded slowly, while his thumb gently stroked the underside of Emily's wrist. That action was one out of view from any peering eyes.

"Right," he took a breath and looked out the back window, "couple blocks."

He didn't speak again for the rest of the ride.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/

When they got to the hospital, Aaron was allowed to stay with Emily as they rolled her down the hall to the triage room. It was more controlled chaos as the ER team began their evaluation of her condition. Again Aaron just tried to get out of the way . . . though at that point he had to let go of her hand.

His fingers curled as he pulled them back.

And then he stepped off to the side, and the doctors started shooting questions at him over their shoulders. Emily's full name, her symptoms . . . the series of events leading up to her losing consciousness. He answered each point as quickly and succinctly as he could. Even remembering to add the earlier bump to the head when she'd fallen the first time she'd walked into the bank. That resulted in a pause in movements as the two lead physicians seemed to exchange a look. And then the female doctor asked if Emily was allergic to any medication.

He said he didn't know.

At that, the woman gave a nod and a wave before she leaned over to check Emily's pupils. Though Aaron wanted to stay and see what she reported . . . if there was any dilation . . . an older nurse took his arm and started walking him out.

Apparently he'd just reached his exit off the freeway.

Still though, even as he was pulled from the room, his eyes stayed locked on Emily's body. But then he saw one of the nurses take a pair of scissors and start cutting away her clothes.

He flinched and turned his head.

That was one violation that he couldn't save her from.

And after that . . . for him anyway . . . it became a waiting game.

First the nurse brought him to his own exam room across the hall. It smelled vaguely of disinfectant, but also of urine and . . . his nose wrinkled . . . feces. Clearly the disinfectant had not been strong enough to cover over the smells from the last patient. Vaguely he wondered who it had been . . . what had happened.

If he or she had lived or died.

But then that thought was lost when the nurse plopped him down on a stool and began asking him a variation on the same questions he'd just answered as related to Emily. Again, the woman started with the most obvious . . . his name. Then it was all the typical ones from there. Or at least the typical ones for an emergency room intake form.

_Was he in any pain, had he too hit his head . . . had he suffered any trauma or injuries besides the cuts that were visible on his arms and face? _

Though his attention was still mainly on Emily's condition . . . he had half an eye over the nurse's shoulder watching the other doorway . . . somehow he managed to stammer a series of responses to the inquiries. The answers seemed to satisfy the woman, so he must have been fairly coherent. Then she took his vitals, noting each of them on the chart as she went along. He had no idea if they were normal or not . . . and didn't think to ask until after she'd left the room . . . but the only thing that she checked twice was his blood pressure . . . so he figured that overall they must have been normal enough.

The last thing she asked as she started for the door was if he was allergic to any medication.

That time the answer was a clear, "no."

She nodded, made another notation and walked out. A split second later she poked her head back around the corner and told him not to move from that spot. After he'd given her a firm nod of understanding . . . unlike gun toting Secret Service agents, he didn't screw around with inner city ER nurses . . . she disappeared again.

She left him there for six minutes and forty-two seconds.

He knew this was the time that passed, because he was watching the hands on the wall clock spin round and round. And as the seconds ticked away, he realized that the amount of time he was losing was probably the same amount that he had lost while waiting for the gunfire to stop.

He'd had no idea that time could move so quickly, and so slowly, all in the same day.

As he sat there, out of the corner of his eye he saw more gurneys go flying past his room. He realized that the other victims from the bank were arriving.

The corridor was starting to look like Grand Central.

Then a new nurse suddenly breezed into his room and said that she was there to bandage him up. And though she introduced herself as she was snapping on her gloves, he didn't get her name. His attention was too focused on trying to see what was happening across the corridor.

Where Emily still was.

Because now there was some kind of commotion in her room. Though he'd seen people in scrubs hurrying in and out since he'd left, this was the first time that there was a lot of new noise focused solely out of that area. But just as he was about to ask the nurse what was happening . . . Emily's gurney came flying out into the corridor, her doctors were running along on either side.

The only two words he caught clearly were "surgery" and "hematoma."

Shit.

Feeling a chill run up his spine, he twisted his head to try and see her before she was gone . . . all he got was a glimpse of her hand dangling off the side of the gurney.

It was so white.

His eyes fell shut as he took a breath. Then he felt the nurse touch his shoulder a split second before she asked him if he was okay. And though he wasn't feeling at all okay, not even a little bit . . . even if it hadn't been a bullet, he knew that a hematoma was still very bad news . . . he nodded back with a murmured affirmation that he was fine.

Then his eyes popped open again . . . nurse no name was looking down at him with a faintly concerned eyebrow. So he took another breath, and repeated his answer with a bit more strength in his voice.

"Really, I'm fine. Let's just get this done."

And after a second of staring . . . this was the second person today who was almost as good at that game as he was . . . she tipped her head and pulled her little tray over in front of him. Then she rolled up another stool, sat down, and started cleaning out his cuts.

It stung a bit.

And based on her occasional tsking and nose scrunching, he deduced that some of them were bad. Worse clearly than he'd realized, but he hadn't been paying much attention to his own injuries.

Clearly Emily's had been the foremost on his mind.

But after the nurse had placed butterflies on the less serious lacerations, she snapped off her gloves and pointed to first his forehead and then his forearm, "you need stitches in both." So he gave another nod, and another muttered, "okay."

And then that nurse disappeared too.

She was gone MUCH longer than the first one. The clock spins showed first twenty . . . then thirty . . . then forty minutes go by. The noise from the outside the room was getting louder. And though he wasn't at all, by any definition, a patient man, he just sat there very still. He was thinking about Emily.

And that's really all that he was doing.

Running over their morning, minute by minute, matching those minutes up against the ones that were now slipping through his fingers. And he wondered if she really was going to die. If she'd come into his life on this day, for this reason . . . for him to remember her. His eyes began to burn.

And for her to have just one man be nice to her before she passed away.

Oh Christ . . . he blinked and scrubbed his hand down his face . . . he was seriously about to start crying over the theoretical death of a woman he'd only known for a fraction of a day. Not that that the length of their acquaintanceship should matter in theory as to whether or not he should be sad about her dying. But somehow it seemed like it always did. Like it was another thing that people judged you for. Like fixing her face in the ambulance.

It just wasn't _'appropriate' _to become so attached, so quickly.

But as he sat there waiting, his gaze shifting between the green tile floor and the black clock hands slowly winding round and round, he knew that regardless of their earlier agreement to part after today, he wasn't done with Emily just yet. Because as he flashed back on the spot of warmth he'd felt in seeing her smile, and the angst in his stomach when he'd found her crying in the park, and the possessiveness he'd felt in protecting her modesty, suddenly he had an epiphany. They were _supposed _to know each other. They were supposed to be . . . something.

But he didn't know quite what.

And he didn't know how long they were supposed to be, whatever they were. But to date, there had been maybe one or two people that had passed through his life, that he'd made such a connection with, in such a short period of time.

Instantaneously.

And he knew, knew it in his _soul_, that if she didn't make it through her surgery, that her loss was going to leave a hole in his life. It would be a void filled with one haunting and clichéd thought.

. . . _what might have been._

The question was already rolling around in his brain . . . trying to picture a future where she lived, and one where she died . . . and then suddenly nurse no name came back again. Rushed in, really.

This time she had a white coat with her.

By his age, and the pimples, Aaron assumed it was a first year resident. Though, even if he was very young, he seemed to be competent enough. His name was Doctor Joyner. And the kid quickly numbed him up, stitched him up and checked his blood pressure again.

127/85

Not his usual, but it still wasn't that high either. And given the day that he'd had, and was _still_ having, Aaron wasn't particularly concerned about the slight elevation. And apparently the doctor wasn't either. He just told him that it was down from when the nurse took it on intake . . . 140/90, he read off the chart . . . and to make sure to follow up in a few days with his regular physician to confirm that the blood pressure was back to normal, and that the stitches were all right.

Then he gave him a shot of antibiotics, yanked off his gloves, dropped them in the bucket . . . and walked out of the exam room. Though Aaron saw the nurse roll her eyes at his rudeness, Aaron himself could care less. In situations like this, social niceties had always been a minor point to him. He'd rather have a competent doctor who was a bit of a jerk, than a nice one who was a complete idiot.

And either way . . . he sighed as he came to his feet and snatched Emily's purse up from the floor . . . at least now he was done.

So the nurse walked him out to the main desk while rattling off a short list of instructions on things to watch for, nausea, dizziness, red lines on his skin . . . green puss oozing out of any of his cuts. That kind of stuff.

The '_you're about to drop dead of blood poisoning'_ type stuff.

Aaron muttered his affirmation that he understood what she was saying, and then he tried to get an update on Emily's condition, but the woman shrugged and said she didn't know. She'd just been called in for the mass casualty event and had only signed in thirty seconds before she walked into his room. And then she handed him off to the woman running the ER intake desk, with the suggestion to check with her.

Before she left, the nurse dropped his chart down on the counter, and then the clerk began to flip through it. A second later she started pulling out pages . . . blank, pages . . . that he needed fill out.

He took them with a faintly anxious nod before looking back to the woman.

"I'm trying to get an update on Emily Prentiss," he made a gesture to the back of his head as he put Emily's purse down on the counter, "the head injury, they were taking her to surgery."

The woman looked down at the black leather bag, and then over at him in surprise.

"Oh, are _you_ the husband?"

Before Aaron could respond beyond an "uh," she started digging around in her stack of files.

"The paramedic's chart said that she came in with her husband," she continued with a faint wrinkling of her brow, still digging in her pile, "but we didn't see the notation until she'd been sent up to surgery, and it's been so chaotic with so many people coming in so fast, that we hadn't had time to find you yet." She slapped another file down on the counter between them and started rifling through the papers.

Then she pulled out a small stack of forms . . . they looked to be the same ones that she'd just pulled out of his file.

"Please fill out this set for your wife, Mr. Hotchner."

"Wait," Aaron's face scrunched as he put his hand up, "sorry, I'm not . . ."

And then he was cut off by another voice coming up behind him.

"You're Aaron Hotchner?"

Aaron turned to see two white men in two nearly black identical suits standing behind him . . . obviously the Secret Service had tracked him down.

"Yes," he blinked and nodded, "that's me," then he put his finger up, "one second though." He turned back to the clerk.

"I just wanted to get an update on Emily's condition, I'm not . . ."

And again he was cut off by the same Secret Service agent.

"Emily," he started scribbling in his notebook, "that's your wife? And what's her last name? The same as yours?"

"Uh no," Aaron shook his head, "her last name is Prentiss, but um . . ."

And then he stopped talking, realizing he was getting caught in a loop. And nobody was really listening to him anyway.

_One thing at a time at a time Aaron . . . he sighed to himself . . . one thing at a time. _

So he turned back to the clerk.

"How is she?"

The woman flipped the chart open again, and her finger started running down the summary page in the front.

"Some minor lacerations, the only serious injury was the subdural hematoma, they took her up to surgery about forty minutes ago." Then her eyes snapped back over to his.

"She's going to be at least another couple hours, but," she pointed down to the papers in his hands, "once you fill those out," she gave him a look, "and bring them _back _to me, you can go up to wait for her on four. Somebody will come find you when she's done."

For a second Aaron stared back at the woman, wide eyed . . . the correction was on the tip of his tongue. Then he looked down at the papers in his hand, and then back up to the woman again. Finally he tipped his head.

"Okay."

Though it wasn't his intention to mislead these people as to his relationship with Emily, he'd just realized that he wouldn't be able to get any information on her condition _at all_, if he wasn't a family member of some kind. And given that they'd already made the notation that she had a husband, and assumed that he was it, it was easier to just let them continue to believe what they already believed than to make up something else. And really, he didn't _want_ to lie to anybody, he just didn't want to get kicked out the door. So he'd let the presumption continue for now.

Just until Emily was out of surgery.

And it wasn't just that he wanted to stay in the loop on her condition, there was another reason . . . he didn't want her to be all alone at the hospital. That would be too sad. But the SECOND that they started asking him for permission to do anything to her as it related to her medical treatment, he'd clear up the confusion. And in the meantime . . . he turned to face the two Secret Service agents standing behind him.

_Who could it hurt? _

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Aaron's rhetorical question to himself here, was a deliberate mirror'ing of the earlier chapter when he posed the same thought about stopping to talk to Emily for a few minutes. And obviously there's no 'farcical' element here in him being mistaken for her husband. He was clearly very distressed at her condition, told everybody that she was 'with him', wouldn't let her go to the hospital alone, he's got her purse, and was wearing a bright gold wedding ring. What else would people assume? Exactly._

_So, um, no shocker here, I'm not a doctor. But as usual when I write about stuff I'm not an expert in (which is, oh so much), I do some research to shore up the scene beyond my general knowledge of any particular topic. But again, as always, if anybody out there IS a doctor/nurse/etc. and would like to suggest a point to clarify or whatnot, please feel free to do so. I'm not getting paid for this stuff (another shocker) so my research is obviously not as 'exhaustive' as it would be if I was taking five figures on this crap :) That said, I'm not planning on a detailed blow by blow of her 'brain surgery' so hopefully the I can properly, 'stay in my own lane' so to speak, on the medical bits._

_A little bit of a different kind of balance here in writing his reaction to her condition. He's really very concerned (obviously panicked when it's just him trying to take care of her) but it's not like 'established' versions of them where he'd be totally controlled freaking out trying to get news. He's not so fervent, which is new, because this is the first version of them I've written where one of them was hurt or sick and they BARELY knew each other. So it is kind of tapping into a different approach to the emotional reaction. Especially when he's really not supposed to be having ANY emotional reaction, because he's got that wife. . .that he forgot about :) And yes, Haley will be in this story._

_Random visualization point, though I have actually been to the GWU ER a couple times, I'm not describing that one in here. I'm actually picturing the emergency room here more like the one on ER. It was just what was in my head when I started typing it, so now that can be in your head too :)_

_I think I'm going to stay with this one for the next update, I know exactly where the scene is going and I'd like to heft up the amount posted to get through this 'story arc' sooner than later. Because, as I've stated in earlier notes, this incident at the bank, is not the whole story. It's just how they met._

_Okay, thanks everybody!_


	7. The Communication Gap

**Author's Note:** A little while later.

* * *

><p><strong>Prompt Set #54 (November 2013)<strong>

Show: 90120

Title Challenge: Meet the Parent

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Communication Gap<strong>

Aaron ended up spending almost a half an hour giving his statement. Once the agents heard that he and Emily were the ones that had been stopped by one of the gunmen on their way out . . . apparently it had already been shared with them that this was the 'precipitating act' before everything went completely to shit . . . they became VERY interested in what he had to say.

And he got to say it over, and over, and OVER, again.

And of course when he tried to ask them just ONE question back in exchange for the fifty that he'd answered for them . . . like what exactly _had_ happened that day, was it an attempted robbery or what . . . they blew him right off. Not a surprise really, but still somewhat annoying. But he figured that if the official story that hit the news didn't jive with what he'd personally observed, then he'd simply track down the prosecutors that ended up getting the mess dropped into their laps.

He'd at least get the straight story from them.

But then finally, the Secret Service determined that they'd collected enough information from the 'initial' interview with him, and wrapped things up. Though before they actually walked away, Aaron was assured by the lead agent that someone else would be contacting him in the next few days to run through things, "in more detail."

Of that point, Aaron had no doubt.

Though really, short of sharing the color of his boxers and what he'd had for breakfast, there wasn't much more that he _could _tell anyone about what had happened that day. But fine, he knew the drill. He had probably another half dozen interviews in his future.

Because that's how you built a case.

But once they'd left him alone . . . basically they just went back to making their rounds through the lobby . . . Aaron decided it was time to head up to the surgical waiting area. Yes, the admissions' clerk had been pretty adamant about him NOT leaving the area until he'd finished the paperwork that she'd given him, but, well, screw it. Given that the whole point of him sticking around was to make sure that Emily made out okay, it didn't make much sense for him to stay in the ONE place where he knew that she wasn't.

If he was upstairs, at least then he'd be around if there was an update on her condition.

Also though, as he winced at the sight of two orderlies colliding in the middle of the room . . . one of them was carrying blood samples, three of which hit the floor with a messy crash . . . it had to be less chaotic on the surgical floor than the emergency area. So after checking his watch to check the time . . . a little before two . . . he headed over towards the elevator bank.

And fortunately, once he arrived up on four, he found the surgical waiting area with no trouble. And though it was definitely less crowded, and quieter, than the ER, there were still a fair number of people around. Almost a dozen of them actually, and he figured that number was likely to grow exponentially as the afternoon went on, and word about injuries, spread.

So after giving a polite nod to the few teary family members that he inadvertently made eye contact with . . . God knew he didn't want to be sucked into a conversation with anyone . . . Aaron scoped out a single seat off alone over behind a dusty (rubber) fern tree.

Perfect.

Once he was settled, he finally started filling out the blank pages that the admitting clerk had given to him downstairs. For obvious reasons, he started with his own. And then when he was done with that set, he picked up the Emily packet . . . looked at the first question . . . and winced.

Shit. How the hell was he going to do this? They wanted her insurance information and next of kin, and a half dozen other pieces of information that he had absolutely no way of . . . OH!

A lightning bolt suddenly slammed into him.

Her purse! She probably had her insurance card in her purse! And her license would have her address, and maybe . . . he scooped the bag up from under the chair where he'd tucked it . . . if he was lucky, she'd have an address book too.

And though he felt a tiny bit awkward as he began digging into her personal things, he didn't actually feel guilty. It's not like he was just being nosy, he was trying to get her properly checked into the hospital for BRAIN surgery.

Obviously this was digging for a good cause.

And as luck would have it . . . which was rather surprising given that luck hadn't really been much on their side that day . . . he did indeed find a health insurance card in her wallet. But unfortunately . . . he bit his lip . . . no address book. But then he spotted a loose business card that had slipped down behind her compact. He pulled it out.

_Richard W. Prentiss_

_Central Intelligence Agency. _

And remembering what Emily had told him about her parents' professions . . . the spy and the diplomat . . . he knew immediately that this man must be her father. He let out a sigh of relief.

Finally, _proper_ next of kin.

Though he would have stuck around the hospital to make sure her surgery went well no matter what, of course Aaron wanted Emily to have her family there for her as well. And as he remembered spotting a bank of pay phones when he'd first gotten off the elevators, he got up, tucked the purse under his arm, and headed back down the sterile corridor to go reach out to this man that he did not know, to give him news that he most definitely would NOT want to receive.

Yeah . . . Aaron felt a faint churning in his gut as he walked up to the phone on the end of the row . . . this was not going to be fun.

But unpleasant or not, it needed to be done. So after he'd dumped his small pile of change out on the shiny little counter, he took a breath and started sliding coins into the slot. Once he had dumped in thirty cents, consisting of mostly nickels and one scratched up dime that fell out three times, he finally punched in the ten digit number written on the little white card.

The phone rang once . . . twice . . . three times . . .

His jaw clenched.

_Crap. What if he wasn . . ._

"Hello."

The voice was terse . . . and very unfriendly.

Aaron blinked.

"Uh, hello."

And then he recovered from his surprise and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, is this Richard Prentiss?"

"Yes," came back the clipped response, "and you are?"

"My name is Aaron Hotchner, sir, I'm a uh, a friend of your daughter and I found your card in her bag. She's been um," his fist clenched as he winced, "well, there was an incident, and she was hurt pretty badly. It's a head injury. We're at GW and she's in surgery for a subdural hematoma."

As he was speaking of the head injury, from the other end of the line Aaron had heard a sharp intake of breath. But now that he'd finished explaining about Emily's situation, there was just silence. A silence filled with very rapid breathing actually.

If it was possible for breathing to sound 'panicked,' that was definitely what it sounded like right then.

But then Mr. Prentiss' voice came back again . . . though this time there was suspicion in it.

"All right, well, I've never heard of you Mr. Hotchner. Tell me something about my daughter."

"Um, uh . . . uh."

Unprepared to take a 'quiz' about their relationship, Aaron stammered for a second. But then he quickly replayed his time with Emily, and shared what he thought would win her father's trust.

The whole truth.

"She's going to Yale and had come home for a few days to visit before her finals. She's kind of stressed about her statistics class because she's afraid she won't do well there. She'll be twenty-three in October, but," he bit his lip, "she already seems much older. And she's brilliant and funny and, uh," he huffed a bit wistfully, "kind of a klutz."

For a moment there was more silence, and then a pained sigh.

"Well, you definitely know my girl. All right," Aaron heard the other man's throat clear . . . his voice had been getting husky, "and where are you exactly?"

"Fourth floor," Aaron twisted the silvery phone cord, "that's the surgical waiting area. She was taken in maybe ninety minutes ago, but I haven't heard anything yet."

After he finished speaking, Aaron heard another pained exhale through the line.

"All right, well I'm at least a few hours out, but I'll contact Emily's mother. She'll be there shortly."

"Okay," Aaron nodded though the older man couldn't see him, "I'll watch for her. And uh," he rolled his eyes slightly, "just one more thing, sir. So you know, there was a miscommunication when we were brought into the ER, and now the staff thinks that I'm Emily's husband. And I didn't want to correct the error until I was able to reach somebody else. I just, uh," he paused, "well, I just didn't want to leave her here alone."

Though he was somewhat embarrassed about the gaffe . . . though it had turned out for the best that it had happened, when said aloud it sounded a bit Three's Company'ish . . . to Aaron's surprise, Emily's father just seemed relieved about his mistaken identity. All he heard back was a, "that's fine son, that's good actually if you were able to stay with her. I'm just glad she wasn't alone. Thank you very much for calling."

And then the line went dead.

For a second Aaron held the buzzing phone in his hand. And then he started to put it back on the receiver, when he suddenly processed how late it was actually getting. It had been a least a three hours since he'd left his office.

He needed to call his boss.

So after digging out a bit more change . . . more nickels . . . he quickly made that call.

It came a bit of a surprise to Aaron that when his boss answered, it turned out that not only was he already aware of the bank robbery, but was in fact ALSO already aware that Aaron had been sucked up into it. And for a second Aaron was slightly thrown by that development, but then he found out that the Secret Service had called to verify his employment. And that's when he remembered the exchange in the street.

The card he'd given to the other agent, and the information about his unit and chief.

They were checking his identity.

And then Aaron tuned back in to his boss asking him if he and Haley were all right

Quote, "the agent said that you and your wife were rushed to the hospital," end quote.

And he winced . . . FUCK!

Yeah, that was not a development he was expecting. That anybody ANYWHERE would have ever connected Haley with the cluster fuck that this day had been. So after a faint groan, he explained about Emily . . . short version, "woman he'd been chatting with in line" . . . her injuries, and how the Secret Service got to the mix-up with her identity.

They saw his wedding ring.

When he done speaking, there was a faint pause, and then an, "oh, I see," from his boss. And in that moment Aaron was NINETY-NINE percent POSITIVE, that his chief thought that Emily was his mistress.

Super.

But he had neither the time, nor the inclination, to deny the non-verbalized allegation. It was bad enough that he'd had to discuss his personal life AT ALL, so he certainly wasn't going to continue to discuss it further for no good reason.

Besides, he knew that if he attempted to 'explain' anything more about Emily or their relationship, it was just going to sound even more like some kind of pathetic cover for an affair.

So he just left it vague.

That he was still at the hospital, (didn't explain why) and probably wouldn't be getting back to the office that day. To that he got a concerned, "oh yeah of course Aaron, take as much time as you need, just call me tomorrow," so he knew, fictional alleged mistress or not, there was no judgment there. He didn't know if he was relieved, or insulted. But either way, after a few final words . . . they both hung up.

Once that call was done, Aaron stood there by the phone bank . . . which was starting to get a little busier, two other people had just joined him . . . tapping his fingers against the edge of the little counter. He was trying to think if he was forgetting anything.

No . . . he slowly chewed on his lip . . . that should be it. For a brief moment he'd considered calling Haley, but then he didn't really see any reason to upset her. After all, he personally was fine, and . . . he rolled his eyes slightly . . . he REALLY didn't want to have to explain, over the phone, the 'Emily situation.'

Not after the reaction he got from his boss.

No, that would be a MUCH easier conversation to have in person. And he didn't usually get home until at least six o'clock, so it's not like she'd be expecting to see or hear from him before then. If all went well with Emily's surgery, he'd be out of the hospital and heading home well before six. And if he was held up . . . his brow creased worriedly . . . if things took longer, than he'd just bite the bullet and have the conversation on the phone.

His gaze dropped down to his watch.

Five thirty. If he hadn't left the hospital by then, that's what time he'd call her.

So with a plan now in place on how to handle the awkward conversation with his wife . . . very, very carefully . . . Aaron scooped the rest of the change back into his pocket. And then headed back down the hall to his seat by the potted fern, and waited for Emily's mother to arrive.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: This was one of those chapters that just kept going on and on and on, and I decided to go back and cut it where I did because it DID just keep going on and on. So I decided to leave it as a transitional chapter to kick things forward (figured 2600 words was a perfectly respectable post), and then we'll pick up with the more complicated 'relationship' elements next time around. So next time around Haley will make appearance and we'll find out how Emily is doing. And literally I have like another 3000 words written for the next chapter so that's at least helpful. _

_You might have noticed Aaron seems to have forgotten that he was supposed to be meeting his wife, and two dozen other people, out for his birthday dinner. But given the other things on his mind at the moment, those birthday plans slipping away, is perfectly understandable. Also, he really didn't want to go to that thing anyway, so he might have just blocked it out :) Either way, it is going to create a bit of a mess. And as to whether he should have called his wife IMMEDIATELY, remember this is the early 90s. This is not a world of social media and ubiquitous cell phones and text messages and constant personal interaction. Back then, you left home in the morning, you generally didn't have any contact with your family until you got home at night. And that was totally normal. So his plan to just wait and tell her his day in person so that he could explain things fully, was a logically sound one. But of course, he'll regret it anyway :)_

_I am working on Lonely Hearts concluding chapter right now too, but I'd like to puff up this story a bit more (basically move out of this story arc), so I'll try and get back to this soon. _

_Thanks everybody for both the patience on the postings and the feedback :)_


	8. The Husband's Secret

**Author's Note**: First, thanks everybody for all the reviews the last few weeks :)

And second, going to narrative for a bit to move things along. And there is a bit of a time passage here, which is good because this was really going to take FOREVER if every hour of every day, of their lives, got its own chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Prompts Set #34 (September 2013)<strong>

Author: Liane Moriarty

Title Challenge: The Husband's Secret

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Husband's Secret<strong>

Emily's mother arrived about thirty minutes after Aaron had spoken to her father. And though Aaron had never seen the woman before, with the dark hair and the dark eyes with the thick lashes, her genetic relationship with Emily was immediately obvious.

They really could have been sisters.

So as he saw her rushing into the fourth floor waiting area . . . with what appeared to be a somewhat nebbishy lackey huffing behind her with a leather satchel . . . he immediately stood up and waved her over to his area by the rubber tree with a, "Mrs. Prentiss, I'm Aaron Hotchner, the man who called your husband."

After she hurried over, Aaron more properly introduced himself, and after she gave him the once over . . . it was the same visual scrutiny he'd had from Emily when he'd asked her to lunch . . . Mrs. Prentiss allowed him to give her his chair. And once he'd dragged another chair over from the other corner of the waiting area, he sat down by her side, and began recapping the same information that he'd already shared with Emily's father.

And then he answered about fifty additional questions, posed by Emily's mother.

The experience was very similar to the interview that he'd had with the Secret Service. Though Mrs. Prentiss was MUCH more thorough than those agents had been. And he was saying that even though he'd gone through a thirty minute interrogation!

Mrs. Prentiss' was almost as long.

In the end it was all a bit of a blur, but by the time they'd finished, Aaron was fairly certain that he'd even shared his mother's maiden name, and his GPA in law school. Yes, in retrospect he had NO idea how either of those things could have come up . . . though somehow they had. But at least by the time they were done talking, the woman seemed to have warmed up to him a bit. Not that she was frosty at first . . . a bit cool perhaps, though mostly she just seemed (understandably) anxious about Emily's well-being . . . but by the time she finally leaned back slightly in her seat, running her perfectly manicured fingers along her perfectly tailored knee length black skirt, she was finally calling him Aaron.

That was the moniker that he'd offered up when they'd initially shaken hands.

But still for the first fifteen minutes of their conversation, it had just been a crisp, "Mr. Hotchner." And then that had morphed to a slightly _less_ crisp, "Mr. Hotchner."

So either way, the concluding, "Aaron," was definitely progress.

And the other thing that had happened by the time they were done talking, was that the lackey, Mr. Makepeace . . . seriously a diplomat named Makepeace, you couldn't make that stuff up . . . had returned from hunting down someone to get an update on Emily's condition. That was the task Mrs. Prentiss had sent him off on when they'd first arrived.

Find my daughter.

And apparently Mr. Makepeace was quite good at his job, because even with the semi-controlled chaos of a mass casualty event, somehow this man had found the actual _chief _hospital administrator himself . . . a fussy looking older man wearing a seersucker suit under his white coat . . . to bring the update on Emily's condition.

And the update was . . . still in surgery.

Though he then did add that the surgery was, by all accounts going, "well," but it was still emergency _brain_ surgery and therefore by definition, somewhat risky.

The latter was clearly the 'cover your ass' portion of the update.

Dr. Bailey finished by telling Mrs. Prentiss that he'd make sure she was given updates every thirty minutes until her daughter's surgery was complete, and she was safely in recovery. And though it was clear at that point that this busy man thought he could now graciously step away . . . Emily's mother wasn't having any of that. From the clench in her jaw, Aaron could see that Bailey was about to receive the EXACT same third degree that Aaron himself had just completed.

And he was NOT prepared for it.

Especially given that _this_ third degree including finding out everything that there was to know about not only Emily's injury, but also the full credentials and work histories of every SINGLE man and woman currently operating on her. And Mrs. Prentiss wasn't taking the, "Madame Ambassador, I really do have to go," for an answer. She told Bailey to sit back down, or she was calling every member of his Board of Directors, individually, to file a complaint. And then when Bailey sputtered for a half second, she told Makepeace to start gathering the phone numbers. After that, Bailey immediately capitulated. And Aaron, he was . . . impressed.

Seriously, genuinely, _impressed_ . . . with a woman that he'd known for just under an hour.

Which was . . . curiously . . . more than a shade reminiscent of the trajectory of his relationship with the woman's daughter. They were definitely an interesting lot, these Prentiss women. And Aaron was a bit disappointed at the realization that he probably wouldn't have the opportunity to get to know them as well as he would have liked. Yes, he was hopeful about maintaining some sort of contact with Emily after all of this was done, but he really wasn't sure how feasible that plan would turn out to be.

Or wise.

Again, Haley would not approve of any contact at all. So those plans for a future connection, were presently undefined. So in the meantime, he just stayed focused on the present. Sitting and listening as Emily's mother quietly commanded the room in a way that he'd only ever seen a few women before her.

And slowly the minutes ticked away.

In fact by the time Dr. Bailey had his secretary, and the head of Human Resources, gather up all of the credential and employment information that had been requested, the first thirty minute update, had already been delivered.

Surgery still ongoing.

And then another thirty minutes passed, this time with Dr. Bailey back in his office, and Aaron pacing the length of the waiting room, while sipping a fancy (tasty) coffee drink that Mr. Makepeace had gone out and brought back for the three of them. Though he'd never much 'hungered' to join the elite ranks of the wealthy and powerful, Aaron was starting to see the perks of having a personal manservant at your beck and call.

At least in times of personal crisis anyway.

But by the time the coffee was done, and the third update had passed . . . this time that there had been a slight drop in Emily's blood pressure, though the nurse said that it was under control . . . five-thirty had come and gone. It was actually very close to six pm. And Aaron realized then that he'd forgotten to call Haley at the time that he had planned. And there was still no way that he was ready to leave yet.

Not until the surgery was done.

So with a gesture to Emily's mother that he'd be back in a moment, he slipped out to the bank of phones in the main corridor.

Then he immediately had to return and ask Mr. Makepeace if he could borrow a quarter.

But after THAT, he dialed his home number. Though to his surprise . . . Haley didn't answer. Then he realized though that she could just be taking a walk or something. So as the greeting on the machine finished . . . it as his voice, and he hadn't quite gotten used to that yet . . . Aaron started to leave a message that, "though he was physically okay, there had been an incident, he was stuck at the hospital, and . . ."

. . . the message beeped.

He ran out of time.

And not wanting to have to ask for yet ANOTHER quarter from Mr. Makepeace . . . it was strangely emasculating just having to ask for the first one, like somehow he should have been better prepared to spend the afternoon handling these messes . . . he hung up the receiver and headed back down to again settle into the waiting room. The portion of the message that he'd left was perfectly sufficient.

The rest could wait until he got home.

/*/*/*/

Unfortunately, it turned out that he didn't actually get home, for some time. Because by the time Emily's surgery was done, and they had an update from her actual surgeon explaining the procedure, the blood pressure issue, and that the patient was now stable and had been moved to the recovery room . . . it was close to seven forty-five.

And it was just around eight-fifteen, when Aaron finally cabbed it home.

When he walked in the front door, the apartment was quiet . . . and dark. After he'd hung his keys on the hook by the entryway, he turned on a light as he called out Haley's name.

Nothing.

So he stood there for a moment, his brow wrinkled, wondering where the hell she could be. Then he walked a little further into the living room, and flipped another switch. This time though, the light from the table lamp immediately illuminated the birthday card from his mother. It was lying on the corner of the coffee table where he'd left it that morning. And soon as he saw it . . . he winced.

SHIT!

That GODDAMN birthday dinner that he hadn't wanted to go to! He'd COMPLETELY forgotten! And perhaps under ANY other circumstances, that might have sounded rather ridiculous . . . that he could forget his own birthday outing . . . today it wasn't so unbelievable. Even for a man who had spent many years of his childhood feeling the thrash of his stepfather's belt, today still ranked as his most 'violently traumatic' afternoon of record.

And remembering then that the birthday dinner was supposed to start at seven, Aaron realized that Haley had probably left a little before six to allow for traffic, and to make sure that everything was setup exactly the way that she wanted it done. Which meant that she had, in all likelihood, missed the message that he'd left on the answering machine, explaining that he was stuck at the hospital.

Crap.

So that meant . . . he simultaneously groaned and rolled his eyes . . . she'd probably been waiting for him at that restaurant for over an hour. He sighed.

Great.

And sure enough, when he walked over to check the machine, after listening to his own message . . . still showing as 'new' . . . he got to listen to five from his wife.

_7:10 (nice): "Hey, assuming you stopped home to change. Hurry up honey, everybody's here."_

_7:20 (annoyed): "Where are you? It's starting to get awkward."_

_7:25 (confused): "Aaron . . .?"_

_7:30 (pissed): "Aaron seriously, if you're still working, I'm going to kill you. I'm calling the office."_

_7:40 (really pissed, harsh whisper): "People are starting to LEAVE! Where the hell are you?! I know you didn't want this dinner, but did you actually skip it just to embarrass me?!"_

_7:50 (still vaguely pissed/mostly concerned/confused): "Okay, you're still not here, and you're still not answering at home or at your desk. I'm starting to get a little worried."_

That was the last message . . . though there were five subsequent hang ups. And he was just about to pull out the phone book to look up the number for that restaurant . . . if he could remember the name of the God damn place . . . when he heard the key in the lock.

He rushed over and whipped open the door to see his wife wearing her best navy blue cocktail dress, and her hair very nicely made up for an evening out. She took one look at him . . . and started screaming.

"Where the hell have you BEEN?! Did you forget!? You were SUPPOSED to meet me and your friends over an HOUR ago! I've been calling and calling and . . ."

And then suddenly she stopped with the high pitched yelling . . . thank God, his ears were bleeding . . . as her eyes widened. It seemed that she was suddenly actually SEEING him for the first time since he'd opened the door.

That's when he remembered the stiches . . . and the generally poor condition of his blood splattered clothes.

"What happened to you?" She whispered as her hand came up to ghost over the stiches on his forehead, "are you all right?"

"Yeah," he quickly nodded as he caught her hand, "I'm fine Haley, I just." He rolled his eyes slightly, "I'd, well, I'd left you a voicemail about what happened, but obviously you didn't . . ."

"Well tell me now," she cut in anxiously as she pushed him backwards and shut the door behind her, "how did you get hurt?" She continued while dropping her clutch on the end table, "where have you been?"

"Uh . . ."

Aaron opened his mouth to start and explain why he was late . . . Emily's surgery, after all that was the precise answer for "where" he had been, the waiting room . . . but then his 'marital instincts' . . . all husbands had them . . . kicked in, and he realized that this was the WORST possible time to tell Haley the whole messy story that he had _planned_ on telling her when he got home.

"_Well, you see my incredibly strange day all started around noon when I started flirting with this incredibly attractive girl I met at the bank. And then I made her cry, and then we set up a lunch date, and then the bank got robbed, so I spent the rest of the day at the hospital posing as the attractive girl's husband, while hanging out with her mother, the U.S. Ambassador to Belgium, and drinking coffee with the mother's manservant. A diplomat named Makepeace.'_

Yeah . . . he internally winced . . . no. No, that was not a story that he could share. In fact, there actually wasn't ONE version of that story . . . which included Emily specifically . . . that he thought would fly for tonight. Not with the level of anger that he'd heard on Haley's voicemails, and then the screaming at the door.

That was all still bubbling below the surface.

Of course she was all nice and genuinely concerned for his well-being right now, but he knew that she was NOT at all going to understand why he'd chosen to spend the evening at the hospital waiting to hear about the outcome of a surgery for a virtual stranger, rather than remembering to go to meet his wife and "friends" for his birthday dinner.

Or even if she understood why he wouldn't have been in the _mood_ to go out for dinner . . . which he most definitely would not have been, even if he _had_ remembered it . . . she STILL wasn't going to comprehend, on any level, why he hadn't just come straight home after he'd gotten bandaged up. So there was really NO way to bring Emily, or her injuries, into this conversation.

Not tonight.

So instead of the absolute truth . . . which is what he _usually, _okay _mostly,_ told his wife of six and half years . . . he went with a more succinct version of his day. That he'd gone to the bank at lunch, that there'd been a violent robbery, a horrible counter assault, and though he'd personally only suffered a few relatively minor lacerations . . . gesture to butterfly bandages for effect . . . he'd still been brought to the hospital by ambulance. And then he'd just been stuck there for hours with the treatment, and the forms and the paperwork and the law enforcement interviews, etc., etc. . . . etc.

Emily was in the final "etc."

When he was finally done talking . . . "spinning a yarn," his conscience corrected . . . Haley was still staring up at him in wide eyed confusion.

That was not a good sign.

"But Aaron," she asked slowly, with a slight shake of her head, "if all this started at _lunchtime_, why didn't you call me when you first got to the hospital? That had to have been, what?" Her brow scrunched, "five or six hours ago, right? I could have come down and picked you up. Or at the very least, I could waited with you if you had to stay there. So why didn't you call me?"

For a second Aaron stared blankly down at his wife. Though the absolute truth was again on the tip of his tongue . . . "honestly, Haley, it didn't even occur to me to call you, not for hours, and even then I dismissed the thought outright". . . again he held it back. That time though because obviously the absolute truth would have hurt her feelings. So instead he once more went with a cloudier version of what had actually happened.

More yarn off the spool.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he answered with a shrug and a squeeze of her hand, "I guess it was just a crazy day."

And then he dropped her fingers, turned . . . and headed down the hall, unbuckling his belt as he went.

He needed a shower.

/*/*/*/

Early the next morning . . . very early, it was barely five am . . . after a fitful night's sleep (barely any sleep) Aaron rolled over and slipped quietly out of bed.

After their 'discussion' of the night before, he was being VERY particular about not inadvertently waking up his wife.

And after a quick glance to make sure that Haley _was _still sleeping . . . yes . . . he hurriedly pulled together an outfit in the dark. Then he tiptoed out of his bedroom, and headed down the hall to the bathroom.

Once there he peed, did a quick shave, and even quicker shower, before hurriedly drying off and then pulling on whatever the hell he'd managed to snatch from the blind groping in the shared closet and dresser. Fortunately, he hadn't grabbed anything of Haley's. And it was also fortunate that there was absolutely NOTHING in _his _wardrobe that could be considered, "flashy. " So though he hadn't been looking, he still managed to pull together appropriate clothes for the office.

White shirt, navy suit . . . his eyebrow inched up as he looked down at the last item on the counter . . . dark brown tie.

Okay, brown and blue were not an _ideal_ color combination, but . . . he threw it around his neck . . . they weren't God awful either.

At least they were all solids.

And once he'd gotten his tie on, and his teeth brushed, he hurriedly straightened up the bathroom. Then he went out to grab his wallet off the coffee table, and his keys from the hook . . . then he headed out the door.

Places to be.

/*/*/*/*

Twenty minutes later . . . a little after six am . . . Aaron found himself standing outside the door leading to GW's ICU ward. Given that he technically had absolutely NO business whatsoever standing in that hallway, he was trying to think what the hell he was going to say to get himself inside that ward.

And then he decided on the truth.

He was worried about his friend.

So with that, he raised his hand to press the big black buzzer on the wall. But then . . . by some miracle . . . the door started to open. And they were wide swinging doors, so Aaron quickly stepped back to allow the orderly, with the empty wheelchair, to get by him.

And then as he stood there now alone in the hall, Aaron realized that the orderly was gone . . . but the door was still open.

So after a quick look over his shoulder, he darted into the open space that was just starting to close.

Excellent . . . he nodded to himself once he was on the other side . . . one hurdle down. So now he just had to find Emily's room, poke his head in to see how she was doing, and then he'd be on his way.

Should be easy enough.

And to his surprise . . . and relief . . . it was relatively easy. Because as he started walking down the brightly lit corridor, nobody stopped him. He wasn't sure if it was just his demeanor, (he _was_ pretending like he knew where he was going), or maybe his lanyards.

They were similar in color to the ones that the hospital staff were wearing. Of course that was if you didn't get close enough to read that his said "DOJ," not "GWU."

And nobody was.

Getting close enough that is.

So Aaron continued slowly walking along, his gaze snapping from one side of the corridor to the other. The one "fortunate" element of being in the ICU area, was that the rooms were notably larger than standard hospital size.

Basically that meant that there were fewer rooms to check.

And he'd made it a third of the way around the U shaped wing . . . he'd passed the nurses desk with a curt nod, he got one in return . . . before he spotted the one word that he'd been searching for since he'd arrived.

_Prentiss._

It was actually, _"Prentiss, E.,"_ and seeing her door . . . and seeing that it was shut . . . caused Aaron's stomach to turn a bit.

Nerves perhaps.

Either way he powered through it. He walked over, and after a VERY soft knock . . . he didn't want to wake her, it was just a warning in case the staff were doing a ridiculously early morning sponge bath or something . . . he pushed it open.

And though he'd rather expected that maybe Emily's mother . . . or father . . . might have been camped out inside, to his surprise, both of the visitors' chairs were empty. And he didn't see any bags or jackets in evidence so if one of them was in the building, they must have stepped out for a bit. So with at least a few minutes (if not longer) of presumed privacy, he slipped quietly inside the room, and pushed the door shut behind him.

Then he stopped short, his upper teeth sinking into his lip as he took in what was in front of him.

Emily.

She was in a light blue hospital gown, and lying in an oversized bed. Her upper body was elevated and there were tubes hooking her up to the machines beeping on both sides of her. Half of her head had been shaved, and . . . Aaron winced as he took a step closer . . . there was a terrible, ragged, incision on that side of her skull.

She looked absolutely terrible.

And so very small.

And though a part of him then began to realize that his visit might be seen by some as an intrusion . . . there were many people who wouldn't want to ever be seen looking so vulnerable . . . somehow, as he walked closer to the bed, Aaron didn't think that Emily would mind that he was there.

And as he stared down at her, he began to count back the hours since her surgery had ended.

Twelve.

No . . . his jaw clenched . . . eleven. Eleven hours, and now he was wondering if she'd woken up yet. And though he knew that information would probably be in her medical chart, he refused to violate her privacy that way.

Granted he had been digging through her purse and posing as her husband for half of Tuesday, but . . . today was Wednesday. And Wednesday he was going to be respectful of some personal boundaries.

Or at least he was going to try.

Still though, as he stopped next to her bed, he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to gently stroke his fingers over the back of her wrist. And he did that because again, she looked so little . . . and cold.

And he just wanted to make sure that she was warm.

His lips pursed . . . but she wasn't warm. Or at least not warm enough. So he reached down to lightly tug up the other blanket that was resting on her thighs.

He pulled it up to her waist . . . and then leaned over to pull up and onto her folded arms.

For both movements, he was very careful to avoid bumping her tubes.

And as he leaned back, his gaze dropped down to see that Emily's eyes had started to open. His own eyes widened in surprise.

She was looking right at him.

Her gaze was sleepy and confused . . . probably in part that was the drugs . . . but there was definitely a level of intelligence in her eyes. And seeing that, he felt a bit of relief. Because he'd been so worried about that wonderful, clever brain of hers. That it might have been permanently damaged.

Hopefully not.

But at least he was a bit encouraged about the condition of her faculties.

And though he hated that he'd woken her up, he decided to take advantage of the moment. He just wanted to see if she remembered him.

If that part of her brain was working okay.

So he gave her a soft, slightly worried, smile as his hand came down to gently squeeze her fingers.

"Hi there," he whispered, "do you know who I am?"

For a second she stared up blankly, and he started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach . . . but then suddenly she licked her lips.

"Aaron," she mouthed as her eyes crinkled ever so slightly, "dimples."

He burst out laughing.

And he was so ridiculously happy that she could remember both his name AND his dimples . . . which meant that she was both retaining and processing data . . . that he shot her a huge two dimpled grin. And then before he even really realized what he was doing, he leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Yep," he answered softly with a little smile, "that's me, Aaron with the dimples. I just wanted to come make sure you were doing okay." Then he frowned slightly as he fixed her blanket. "I'm sorry I woke you, but your hand was cold and I didn't want you to catch a chill."

"So'kay," she murmured back with a sleepy smile, "happy to see you."

"Yeah," his eyes started to sting, "I'm really happy to see you too. You had me VERY worried yesterday. So don't fall down and break your crown again, okay? No more Humpty Dumpties."

Her eyes crinkled slightly.

"K, promise."

Her words were again a sleepy mumble. And for a moment they stared at each other, and he wanted to say something else, he actually just wanted to talk to her for a minute, but he knew that she wasn't up to actual conversation. She was drugged up, exhausted, and recovering from major brain surgery. Which meant that the most important thing right now was that she got rest.

For probably two or three weeks at least.

So he patted her hand.

"Well, I think I should go now," he leaned in to give her a conspiratorial whisper, "if they catch me in here, I think they're going to kick me out, so," he leaned back with a wink, "best not to get caught."

Still drowsy, Emily gave him a faint pout.

"Later?" She mumbled as her lip popped out. And Aaron's eyebrow quirked up.

"Do you mean," he asked slowly, "that you want me to come back and _see _you, later?"

And he again saw Emily nod as she bit back a yawn.

"Mmmm."

Her answer wasn't exactly the Queen's English, but he still understood that to be an affirmative response nonetheless. And feeling another pull of attraction for her . . . the same pulls that had initially gotten him into SO much trouble when they'd first met early the day before . . . he was about to immediately agree to her request. To say yes, of course he'd come back later. But then he flashed on Haley's screaming the night before, and then his wife's likely reaction to him deciding to make 'regular' visits to this other woman's hospital bedside.

That was a life choice that would not go over well.

And for a moment he was conflicted. _Very_, conflicted. He didn't want to tell Emily no . . . certainly not with her looking so pitiful . . . but he didn't want to start World War Three at home, either. But then his gaze traveled up and around the bed. He was again taking in the beeping machines, and Emily's chalky skin, and the thick, slightly stained bandages covering her head. His jaw snapped.

Fuck it.

Emily might have been a new female friend, but she was also a _sick,_ female friend. A _very_, sick female friend. And he wasn't going to let his wife's potential upset prevent him from providing the support that his new friend would need to get better. If she wanted him to come visit . . . if that was going to help with her recovery . . . then of course he would come visit her.

And that was that.

So his expression softened as he leaned down to lightly grasp her fingers.

"Of course I'll come back later," he whispered, "but probably tomorrow though. Your brain needs to rest. And I don't want to keep waking you up by accident."

Though he could see the faint twinge of disappointment on her scrunched up face, Emily nodded back.

"K," she mumbled as her lashes started to flutter, "thanks."

And with that, Aaron could see that she was starting to fade away again. So after a light squeeze of her digits, he let go. And after one more adjustment to her bed covers . . . there was a bit of gooseflesh on her other arm . . . he turned to leave.

He was halfway across the room when he heard Emily say his name. It was very soft.

He turned around to see her eyes were half closed.

"Yeah," he asked with a faint uptick of his eyebrow.

"Thanks for calling my dad," she whispered with a bit of a drug induced slur.

And he saw her slowly bring her hand to her mouth. Then she pulled it away . . . and he realized . . . she was blowing him a kiss. She'd just woken up, was completely drugged up, brain surgery less than a day ago, she had no energy at all . . . and she was trying to blow him a thank you kiss.

God.

Feeling a wave of something warm crash into him, his eyes started to burn.

He nodded.

"You're welcome," he whispered back.

And then before he knew it, he'd brought his own hand up . . . and he blew her a kiss in return. Her sleepy eyes crinkled, and then she started to blink again.

He stood there until they'd fallen shut.

Once he was sure that she was asleep, he turned and walked over to pull the door open.

Christ . . . he scrubbed his hands down face as he stepped out into the corridor . . . what the HELL was he doing?!

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: All of my writing, though of course fictional, is grounded in actual life experiences or it would all suck mightily. The emotions and the occasional awkwardness and confusion of trying to navigate interpersonal relationships, the more messed up/complicated your life has been, the easier that stuff is to dig up. And in a strange, creepy, life imitates art way, I have SO MUCH EXPERIENCE now with the after effects of massive emergency brain surgery! And that would be because (if you are new to me) my nephew was shot in the head last fall. But what's weird, and again creepy, is that I'd always intended for Emily to suffer this major head injury during the bank robbery. But after my family situation, I couldn't go down the bullet road. That would have been too fresh a personal trauma to dissect that much. But what I did take from that, was the exact description of the hospital ward, and the physical condition of both the room, and the patient, after a surgery of that kind. And also, how alert, and responsive, the patient might be expected to be. My nephew (who is almost perfect now, aside from one seizure, still having a cracked skull, and the tendency to occasionally repeat himself) was shot point blank right above his right eyebrow, and we were told he likely wouldn't make it through the night. But three days later, when they lowered the sedatives, he was just like Emily here. In his case, TV was on low in the corner of the room, and his eyes were half closed, and he was miming playing the piano, muttering the name of the Elton John song in the show, and that was WITH the damage an actual bullet slicing through his brain. So I decided that Emily, with just the head bump, would be coming around faster than 3 days. So that's where that's coming from._

_Beyond that, not making Haley a stark raving bitch, or Hotch a cheater, (per say), but his life is going to get messier still._

_So funny about the Mr. Makepeace thing. Fairly certain I've heard of that as a name before, but not one that was in any way in the forefront of my mind. But then TWICE this weekend, I randomly came across people named Makepeace (one real, one fictional) so when I opened up this story it was the just a perfect name to plug in for a low level State Department employee. As Aaron said, you can't' make that stuff up :)_

_I kind of liked writing the Ambassador at this point in time. When we met her in canon, her career was sort of, if not, 'past its prime' clearly in a transitional phase. The contacts she had to help with the Russian case weren't A level anymore, and you could see her frustration there in not really having the same power anymore. But here she's still got juice and can make people jump. I don't know how prominent a role she'll play in this story, but I might reference her a bit more just for the novelty of that change in her circumstances._

_That's it. Thanks everybody!_


	9. The Way Things Aren't

**Author's Note: **Fast forwarding over a few days here.

* * *

><p><strong>Prompt Set #61 (June 2014)<strong>

TV Show: Life On A Stick

Title Challenge: Liking Things the Way They Aren't

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Way Things Aren't<strong>

Early Friday evening, just after seven pm, Aaron slipped back into the urgent care ward with a small box of Godiva chocolates hidden in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

It had been five days since the attack at the bank.

Which meant that this was his fourth day of coming to this ward. He'd been visiting Emily every day since she'd woken up. And though that had been time very well spent as far as he was concerned, his disappearances were beginning to cause a slight strain with Haley.

She was starting to get suspicious.

But he also knew that she wasn't exactly sure _what_ to be suspicious about. It wasn't as though he'd been disappearing for hours on end, he just came home from work a little later now.

Seventy to eighty minutes later.

His explanation was simple . . . "busy week." Which it _absolutely_ was. Given that it was the first time . . . and God willing the last time . . . that he'd been held hostage in a bank robbery, if nothing else was true in his life, the week most certainly did count as the "busiest" on his personal record.

So though the explanation he'd given to Haley for his delayed return to their shared home was not the _exact_ truth, it wasn't a lie either. It was simply a, "non-specific response."

Once again . . . he thought with a faint touch of guilt . . . his law degree helping to exploit the marriage loopholes. But then he reminded himself that this, "non-specific response," was only being used to cover a temporary situation. After all, Emily would be getting out of the hospital eventually. Not this week, but soon . . . ish.

Within the month anyway.

But either way, once she was home, then his schedule would go back to normal. And then he could once again go back to giving his wife _specific_ details about his whereabouts. And given Emily's progress to date, it was likely she'd be home sooner than later. Really, so far her recovery had been nothing short of remarkable.

To him at least.

Brain surgery on Monday afternoon, talking by Tuesday morning, hating the Jell-O by Wednesday evening, and begging him to break her out of the hospital by Thursday night.

Really, at the rate she was going, he figured she should be cartwheeling out of there in no time.

And though Emily was still on a somewhat restricted diet . . . basically she just ate mush . . . as Aaron walked down the now familiar corridor with the secret Godiva box hidden away in one inside pocket, and her favorite book in the other, he figured that a few chocolates wouldn't hurt anything. And besides that, he just hated to show up empty handed.

As he had on his previous visits that week.

Day one obviously he'd just wanted to see if she was conscious yet, and then day two, though she was spitting out the green Jell-O the nurse was trying to feed her, Emily had still been pretty groggy then too. But by Day Three, Thursday, they'd begun to reduce her dosage of pain medication. That change was immediately apparent when he walked into her room.

Her eyes had been much brighter.

Not that they were clear, not even close, but she was definitely much more aware of her surroundings.

And she hated them.

Though her energy was still low . . . which meant that she was still sleeping a lot . . . during his visit the night before, right as he was leaving, she'd quietly, and somewhat tearfully, murmured how much she hated hospitals. And though he'd turned around and walked back to the bed, she still hadn't actually gone into any specifics as to why that was. But it was clear from her expression, the tears in her eyes, and the way she was gnawing on her lip, that there was some kind of history there.

The bad memory kind.

And though he'd felt a pang of sympathy for her, unfortunately there hadn't been much he could really do to comfort her. He'd literally been on his way out the door, and if he'd stayed any longer Haley would definitely have cornered him when he'd gotten home. He knew that conversation as coming, but he was trying to push it off for as long as possible.

He still didn't know what to say.

So after he'd wiped away the one stray tear that was trickling down from the corner of Emily's eye, his expression had softened as he'd whispered that tomorrow he'd bring her a present. That promise had at least mustered up a faint smile.

And that was really the best that he'd hoped to get.

Of course his first thought for a gift had been flowers. But there was a big sign outside the ward saying that they were banned in the ICU. So with that warning flashing in his brain, when he stopped at the gift shop, chocolate seemed the way to go.

And as he raised his hand to give a light, perfunctory knock, on Emily's half closed door, he made a mental note to ask her if she'd like for him to bring her a deck of cards or something. After all . . . he slowly pushed the door open . . . most of these hours she was here by herself.

That was a lot of time to fill.

As he stepped through the doorway, Aaron did what he'd done on his previous visits, mentally braced himself for the sight of his new friend looking like she'd been hit by a semi.

Still though, even with that mental preparation, he couldn't help the slight pursing of his lips when he again saw her lying there with that raggedy zipper of black stitches on the shaved part of her head. They'd removed the remaining bandages the day before, because the doctor said that it would heal faster. Perhaps, but Aaron just thanked God that Emily didn't have access to a mirror.

She probably would have cried if she'd seen how bad the incision looked.

But seeing that she was awake now, he quickly covered his concern for her with a soft smile.

Then he realized that his attempt at misdirection didn't matter, because it was clear that she hadn't noticed him yet. At the moment . . . his eyebrow inched up in curiosity . . . she was staring down somewhat dejectedly at the remote control.

"Hey," he called out softly as he started across the room, "how you doing today?"

Though she looked exhausted, and her eyes were as they'd been since she'd first woken up, glassy . . . but again, slightly less so than day one of his visits . . . he couldn't deny that it gave him a spot of warmth to see how her expression brightened when she looked up to see him there. It made him feel even better about the daily visits.

And his decision to stick with them for the duration of her stay.

"Oh," Emily's eyes crinkled slightly as he walked up to the bed, "you're here early today."

"Yeah," he responded with a soft tone and a matching smile, "I had the follow-up with my primary to check the stitches, they're fine, but the chief just told me to take the whole afternoon anyway. But enough about me," his eyebrow inched up slightly as he repeated the question back to her, "how are you doing?"

"Um," Emily's faint smile fell away when she half shrugged, half winced, half frowned . . . really she did all three at once, "actually not all that great. Tired, head-achy, hungry, bored, cranky, lonely and," she pouted slightly, "whiney. And I hate being whiney."

Of course that was the vicious cycle _of_ being miserable. It was hard to NOT answer the, "_how are you question_," honestly, and then you once again ended up just whining about circumstances beyond everyone's control.

It sucked.

"You're _not_ whiney," Aaron countered firmly with a sympathetic squeeze of her hand, "you're just having a really awful week. But you're on the mend and," his eyes crinkled slightly, "you know you'll be out of here soon. But," he looked around, "to the lonely point, why _are _you alone? Aren't your parents usually here this time of day?"

He'd run into both of her parents on Wednesday and Thursday. His appearances on both days had been a little after six. And when he came to visit, they stepped out to get something to eat. And though that first night he'd noticed her father's gaze briefly linger on his wedding ring . . . Emily's mother had just flat out asked how long he'd been married, no surprise there . . . Mr. Prentiss also knew that he and Emily really HAD just met Monday morning. So that at least did help to clear up any misconceptions about them perhaps having an affair, or something.

Their relationship was new, and it was platonic.

"They were here at lunch," Emily croaked back, "but they had a meeting this afternoon with the Secret Service, you know, about the case. They said they'd be back for a little bit after dinner. I think they were expecting I would just sleep the whole time they were gone, but the drugs aren't that heavy anymore. So," she sighed, "I've been awake for the last forty minutes and trying to figure out how to turn on the TV. It's the first time I've tried to do it myself and um," she frowned as her voice faded, "I can't figure it out."

She was praying that it was only the drugs making her head too fuzzy for such a simple task, because she was terrified of any other implications there.

"But," Aaron frowned as he reached over to pick up the small black device from the top of her blanket, "why didn't you just call the nurse to help you?"

"Because I was embarrassed," she responded softly, feeling her eyes start to burn, "and I was afraid they might say that it was what they were expecting, you know," her watery eyes snapped up to his as her voice thickened, "that I was going to be kind of slow now."

"Oh Emily," Aaron whispered while reaching out to brush his fingers along her cheek, "you're worrying too much. You're only a few days out of your surgery, and you're still on a high dose of pain killers, and God knows what else. I can tell that just by looking at your eyes, so that's what's slowing your brain down. The extra chemicals in there. But even if there was something," he tipped his head, "organic, causing the problem, you still wouldn't have anything to feel embarrassed about. And besides, that's what occupational therapy is for. To help shore things up. So please," he stroked his thumb along her jaw, "don't cause yourself any additional stress worrying about things like that right now. Your situation is so fluid, that I'm sure by next week, your head will be much less cloudy and you'll be feeling much more like your old self," he gave her a look, "okay?"

"Okay," she sniffled, "thanks."

It was funny how he seemed to instinctively just know the right thing to say, or to do, to make her feel better. Sometimes it felt like she'd known him forever. And with each day that passed with him showing up being so supportive and attentive, and looking so handsome and adorable, yes, she did hate his wife just a little bit more. But she figured that if she couldn't have him for real . . . for real meaning 'romantically' . . . then simply having his support through these awful days, would have to be enough. Then later maybe they could be pen pals or something.

Something that wouldn't get him divorced,

Aaron's lip quirked up.

"No problem, but here," he shifted their attention back to the remote in his hand, "let's get you sorted out with this so you don't have to stress about it again. So see here," he pointed to the silver button on the side, "this is the on/off," he clicked the square, "and then _this_ one," he pointed to the 'up' arrow, "is how you actually change the channel. Ignore the word, 'channel,' just go by the arrows, okay?"

It actually wasn't all that surprising that her drugged up brain was completely confused by the remote control. The fact that the 'channel buttons' were not the buttons you used to ACTUALLY change the channel was rather ridiculous. But Haley had been in the hospital a year earlier to have her appendix out. And though it was a different hospital . . . she had the same television.

It had taken _him_ twenty minutes to figure it out how to turn it on, and he hadn't just had brain surgery.

"And I brought you a treat," he continued aloud while simultaneously putting down the remote, and slipping his other hand into his jacket to pull out the small gold box, "I don't know when you'll be back on solid foods, but maybe," his lip quirked up when he put the box down on the small tray by her bed, "you can suck on these in the meantime."

"Oh," Emily bit her lip as her index finger brushed along the edge of the smooth gold packaging, "chocolate. I was just thinking today when Nurse Patty was feeding me that nasty nutritional gruel, how much I wanted a piece of chocolate instead."

She looked up at him with a little smile.

"Thanks."

Again, hate the wife.

"No problem," his eyes crinkled, "do you want me to bring you anything else? Like crosswords or a deck of cards?" Then a thought occurred to him and his eyebrow inched up

"Did you think to ask your parents to bring you your radio or your Walkman?"

When her door was shut, it could be eerily quiet. The only sound was just the blips from her machines.

It was definitely the sound of a 'sick' room.

"Oh," Emily blinked and looked up at Aaron in confusion, "music. I forgot about music. Yeah, that would be nice. It's creepy sometimes how quiet it is in here. Could you please remind me to ask them? I can't," she scowled, "well, I can't really keep a thought in my head right now."

Even if it was (prayers to God) just a temporary state, it was so INFURIATING being stupid! How the hell did people get by like this!?

"Of course," Aaron immediately pulled out a pen and his interview pad from his jacket, "here," he turned to place the paper on her bed tray and started to jot down the request, "I'll just leave a note for them."

After he'd finished bulleting out some hobby ideas for Emily (he added a few more beyond just the radio and walkman), he signed the note with a, 'thanks, Aaron.' Then he ripped off the slip of paper and put it down on Emily's bedstand where he knew her mother would find it, even if Emily forgot again.

The Ambassador always straightened up before she left the room.

"So now that that's done," Aaron's eyebrow inched up as he turned back around, tucking away the pad and pen into his pocket again, "did _anything_ good happen today?"

After pausing for a second to think back on what the doctor had said regarding her days left in the hospital . . . many . . . Emily's eyes fell down to the blanket.

"Not really," she sighed.

Then, realizing that response might make her sound a bit ungrateful for Aaron's continued appearances, she looked back up at him with a faintly wistful smile.

"Well, you came to visit, but that was about it."

Aaron's lip quirked up, though he said nothing in response. Instead he just reached out to give her fingers a squeeze. And seeing her expression brighten a little, he added a wink . . . and then he flashed a dimple.

He was hoping to make her smile.

Emily started to chuckle at Aaron's antics . . . though the sound was weak.

Her energy still wasn't that great.

"I can't believe you're STILL flashing those babies around town," she half huffed, half coughed, "you're going to get arrested."

Once again, and pretty much daily since they'd met, he was ruining her for all other men.

"Hmph," Aaron harrumphed, "well, fortunately I do have some experience with criminal law, so I think I'll probably get off easy. But anyway," he reached behind him to tug the stool over with his free hand, "enough about me," he dropped down on the seat, "let's talk about you. What's the first thing you want to do when you get out of here?"

It was clear that she was fighting a depression today. But really it was probably the first day that she was lucid enough to truly process the reality of her situation, and how far she had to go in her recovery. So he was hoping to get her focused on the point beyond the initial healing that she needed to do just to get out the front door. Because no matter how bad things might seem right now, they'd be better down the road. They always were.

You just had to give them a little time.

Emily gave Aaron a wistful smile.

"I want to go sit in a park somewhere," she whispered, "I hate being in this awful place. I just want to go outside and look at the flowers and breathe fresh air." She was quiet for a second before finishing with the question that she most wished to ask.

"Would you take me to the park?"

The words were barely audible. And though she knew that perhaps asking him to do that was extending their little friendship too far . . . that it might be an imposition against his marriage . . . she just couldn't stop herself. After all, their personal association was supposed to end back on the day of the robbery, but he was the one that had chosen to stick around. And now she was getting used to having him in her life. He truly did brighten up her days in a way that nobody else ever had. And it wasn't just that her days right now were so objectively miserable by themselves.

It was just him.

It was how he talked to her. How sweet and attentive he was. Just the fact that he _had_ been finding the time to visit with her every day, to bring her a smile and words of support, even though he had a life of his own to live, that showed what kind of person he was.

One that she'd be so sad to now lose from her life.

And she could see his expression had softened at her request. And then his eyes fell down for a moment, almost like he was thinking (he probably was) about the implications of such a request. But then he slowly nodded his head.

"Yeah," he whispered, "yeah, when the doctor says it's okay, I'll take you out."

It was another promise that he knew he shouldn't be making. That once more, he was throwing all good sense into the wind. But his affection for Emily, which had been almost instantaneous from their first meeting . . . it was definitely 'like' at first sight . . . it was growing stronger each day. The bond he felt with her was strange in its intensity.

And it's immediacy.

He also had this recurrent tug on his conscience. This belief . . . and it was down to his bones now . . . that this relationship was going to get him into trouble. But at the moment it seemed so silly to label what he was feeling for her as anything less than innocent. For God's sake she was lying in a hospital bed, fragile, and pale, with half of her head shaved and that horrible zipper of stitches. So for anyone, even himself, to view their evolving relationship, these brief little daily visits, as "improper," or "flirtatious," well that would truly be ridiculous.

Of course he knew that once Emily was well, and back up on those beautifully long legs of hers, that they were going to have to talk and figure out some simple boundaries to keep the emotional . . . and physical . . . lines between them, from getting anymore blurred than they already were. But for the moment, with the dark smudges under her eyes, and the cloud of depression that he could see hovering over her spirit, he saw no point in bringing up any of those future concerns with her right now.

That was a talk for a later date.

And when he heard her whisper back a shy, "thanks," as she patted his arm, he ignored the sudden pull he felt to lean over and press a kiss to her forehead. That was the ONE thing that he needed to get under control now.

The kissing needed to stop.

The kissing was a line that had no straight edges. It was nothing but blur.

So instead of doing what he wanted to do, but couldn't, he just squeezed Emily's fingers. And with his free hand, he reached inside his jacket again. This time he pulled out a library book that he'd picked up on his lunch hour.

Jane Eyre.

He held it up in front of Emily.

"You told me that day in the bank, that this was your favorite of the classics. But I know the doctor said you shouldn't be reading too much yet, so until you're well enough to do it on your own, instead I thought maybe I could read a little bit to you each day." His eyebrow inched up, "would you like that?"

Feeling her eyes start to burn, Emily bit down on her lip as she gave Aaron a watery smile.

"Yeah," she sniffled, "yeah, that sounds really nice. Thank you."

"Okay then," his eyes crinkled slightly, "so why don't you close your eyes and rest, and I'll read you chapter one. It's still early," he checked his watch, "barely four, so I'm sure we can definitely get through that first one."

Hearing Emily's murmur of a, "sounds good," as she gave him another little smile, Aaron was particularly pleased to see that he'd found a way to lift her mood. And so once she was settled back on the bed, and he'd fixed her pillows, and then her blankets . . . he didn't want her to catch a chill, her hands were always cold in there . . . he finally opened the cover of the book.

It had been decades, literally, since he'd read this one himself. Probably Freshman English in high school, so the plot was a bit fuzzy in his head.

But as he went along the first few pages, it started to come back to him again. And he actually remembered liking this book at the time he'd first read it. Though of course it hadn't been 'cool' for a teenage boy to like a book about a woman in the 1800s, _written_ by a woman in the 1800s, so he'd basically kept his affection for the story to himself. He did find himself getting back into it again pretty quickly though. And before he knew it, he realized that he'd finished all of chapter one, and half of chapter two.

He was debating about whether it was time to put in a bookmark, when suddenly he heard a commotion out in the hall.

Feeling a jolt of adrenaline, he froze mid-sentence and his eyes snapped up to meet Emily's.

He could see fear on her face. And he knew that she was flashing back to their nightmare five days earlier.

But of course he was too.

"I'll go check," he whispered as he quickly stood up, clutching the book in one hand, while reaching over to give her hand a quick squeeze with the other.

Before he could step away, he felt Emily pulling him back.

"No," even with her weakened condition she tried to hold onto his fingers so he couldn't walk away, "please Aaron. Please don't leave me!"

Hearing the panic bubbling beneath her pleading, Aaron turned back.

"I'm _not_ going to leave you," he whispered fervently, "I didn't then, and I never would now. I'm just going to look outside. It's probably nothing, I just need to check."

And with that, he pulled his fingers out of her grasp. Then he turned and hurried over to the door that he'd left open just a crack. And after one quick look behind him to see Emily, wide eyed, tightly clutching the blanket with her fingertips, he pulled the door open another two inches.

He tipped his head to the left . . . the direction of the yelling and the clattering . . . to see what else he could hear.

After a second of listening, he let out a sigh of relief.

"It's okay," he called to Emily over his shoulder as he pushed the door shut with an audible click, "it was just one of the patients. He got out of his room," Aaron started walking back to the bed, "it sounds like knocked over a tray and now he's throwing stuff and refusing to go back to his bed. The nurses are handling it, so," he reached out to snag Emily's fingers again, "there's absolutely nothing to worry about."

For a second Emily stared up at him, her eyes watering with the tears that were constantly hovering that day. Finally she decided to tell him the one thing she was trying to keep to herself.

"I've been having bad dreams," she whispered tearfully, "every day since I woke up here. And in one of them, something happens here in the hospital. And I'm all by myself, and I can't get out of bed and," she closed her eyes, trying to shake off the images in her mind, "I'm just really scared being here by myself."

The new dreams were terrible, and they were blending and morphing with her old nightmares of her attack in Saudi Arabia. If not for the drugs, and the physical exhaustion from what her body had been through, she probably wouldn't have been sleeping more than a few hours a day.

Though at this point, and the number of times she'd woken up shaking, with tears in her eyes, she'd probably welcome that brief schedule.

Aaron sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry, but if it helps, I've been having nightmares too," he admitted with a twitch of his jaw, "but I'm sure they'll pass soon for both of us. It's just our subconscious' way of trying work through what happened."

Seeing the quiver in Emily's lip, Aaron reached over to pat her leg.

"Do you want to tell me what else happens?" He asked softly. "Do you think it would help?"

Given his personal background . . . the abuse in his teen years . . . he'd already had his share of fighting the demons that followed you into your sleep.

This was just another pitchfork added into his nightly mix.

Emily blinked and wiped her hand across her face.

"I don't know, um," she cleared her throat, "yeah, maybe. But not today. I'm getting tired."

Though she was thinking that maybe it _could_ help to talk them through . . . after all Aaron had gone through the same experience that she had . . . she knew that he couldn't stay much longer today. And she didn't want to get into something and then he had to run out the door after she'd worked herself up into a blubbering mess.

Well . . . she sniffed and wiped her hand under her eye . . . any more than she was now anyway.

Aaron stared down at Emily for a second, debating if he should push the conversation any further. She just looked so sad. And scared. But then he realized that it probably wasn't the best time to get into an in depth psychological discussion of their inner demons.

He had to get home for dinner.

And yes, that did sound absolutely ASININE even in his own head. But truly, he did have to get home for dinner. Though he'd left work early, between the talking and the reading, he'd already extended this visit out for well over an hour. And they'd probably need a good hour or more to talk about what had happened the other day.

And they just didn't have the time to get into all that tonight.

So instead he found himself leaning down to press a kiss to Emily's forehead. And yes, he knew that he was violating a new rule he'd JUST set for himself. But she was scared and she was crying and he hated to see her so upset. But unfortunately he really couldn't stay much longer.

"I'll find a couple hours on Sunday," he whispered as he brushed his thumb along her cheek, wiping away the tears, "I'll come back and we can talk then, okay?"

"Okay," she sniffled and bit her lip, "thanks."

"No thanks needed," he huffed back, "it's as much for me as it is for you. But," he pulled his hand back and straightened up, "unfortunately, I do have to get going. My in-laws are visiting and there's a dinner I'm going to be late for if I don't leave right now."

Emily nodded as she gave him a little smile.

"I understand. Thanks for coming, and," she pointed to the book, "thanks for reading to me. That is one of my favorites."

And she really couldn't believe that he'd remembered that. And then that he would be thoughtful enough to pick up a copy of that book, and then come here and read to her from it. Seriously, how was it possible that this perfect man could be brought into her life, she thought sadly, but that somebody else would have already put a ring on his finger?

What kind of a cruelty was that?

But she knew that there was no point in dwelling on things that she couldn't control. She just needed to try and find happiness in the way things were, not in the ways things weren't.

So as she watched Aaron fold up a receipt to use as a bookmark, before he tucked the novel away in her bedside table, she tried to hide her sadness about him leaving.

It wasn't going to do either of them any good.

And watching him close the drawer, she tried to stop her eyes from watering, before he looked over at her again.

"I'll try to get over tomorrow for a couple minutes, but it might be literally just for a couple minutes in and out. I'm supposed to," he rolled his eyes, "well, there's this sightseeing stuff we're supposed to do with her parents, but I figure I can offer to go get drinks or something and just pop in then. But," he gave her a look, "I will _definitely_ be here for a couple hours on Sunday, okay? I promise."

There was a hint of worry in his tone, but Emily ignored it to instead nod and squeeze her fist under the blanket.

"Yep," she swallowed over the lump in her throat, "yep, that sounds good. I'll see you then."

Then she watched as he walked over to the door, pausing for a moment before he opened it. It was like he was going to say something, but whatever the thought was . . . he decided to keep it to himself.

Instead he just waved.

"Have a good night."

She lifted her hand up and curled her fingers.

"You too."

Her voice was faint with the tears that she was still trying to push down. And again she could see him about to open his mouth, but she preempted him.

"Better get going," she called out softly, her gaze shifting slightly over his shoulder, "or you'll be late for that dinner."

But to her surprise, still he didn't leave. He just stood there, gnawing on his lip. Finally he let out a soft sigh before he quickly walked back across the room. And before she knew what was happening, he'd leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Try to have a happy dream," he murmured against her skin, "and maybe I can find you there."

That was the last thing he said before he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Again, he moved so fast she barely had time to blink.

She could hear his steps though, continuing out down the corridor.

And she stared at the open door for only a second, before she brought her hand up to touch her cheek. Her fingers brushed over the spot where he'd kissed her.

She burst into tears.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: So obviously Aaron is getting much more entangled here. And Emily, no blur in her lines. She's falling hard for him, and that's that. But I never said this wasn't going to be a bumpy one._

_I really don't have anything else. As I mentioned on my post the other day on Courtship, I had a death in the family and I'm still not feeling particularly, 'chatty' for these A/Ns. Thank you though, for everyone that sent me a note. It's appreciated :)_


	10. Too Much Attitude, Not Enough Underwear

**Author's Note**: Aaron's in-laws are in this one. We've previously met Haley's mother in a few other parts of the Girl'verse. Remember? She was terrible. Here too.

* * *

><p><strong>TV Prompt Set #53 (October 2013)<strong>

Show: Damages

Title Challenge: All That Crap About Your Family

* * *

><p><strong>TV Prompt Set #64 (September 2014)<strong>

Show: Mercy

Title Challenge: Too Much Attitude and Not Enough Underwear

* * *

><p><span><strong>Too Much Attitude and Not Enough Underwear<strong>

"Um, maybe it would be a good time to uh, stop and get some lunch."

Hearing Haley's slightly stammered pronouncement to her sweaty, EXTREMELY cranky family, as they began their walk across The Mall, made Aaron's ears immediately perk up.

Finally! A BREAK in this God forsaken day!

It was just before one on Saturday, and though he'd almost been killed on Monday, there had been no 'sleeping in' for him that day. No, he'd been up since six-fifteen. At _seven_ he'd been sitting down to breakfast at a Cracker Barrel in Fairfax County with his wife, her parents, her younger sister, two aunts, an uncle and three teenage cousins.

It was, in a word, hell.

The presence of Haley's mother alone was enough to ruin any outing. Seriously, she was the nastiest woman Aaron had ever met outside of a jail cell. And of course it was _her_ idea for everyone to be up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday to get an 'early start' on their sightseeing. And Haley just gone RIGHT ALONG and agreed to everything without even telling him _first_, what the plan was!

That was to be expected though.

His wife had never once in the course of their courtship, or their marriage, stood up to her mother on any point, ever. And on days like today . . . especially after a week like the one that he'd had . . . that was a point that SERIOUSLY chafed. Yes, granted he had been giving 'nonspecific responses' to his wife all week to explain his delays in getting home, but she didn't know that! And even by karmic retribution standards, it STILL wouldn't have made it okay for her to subject him to "In-Law Torture," for forty eight hours straight, just to get even for him visiting a sick friend in the hospital!

And torture was ABSOLUTELY, the only word to describe the day that they were having!

Because when you combined the mother-in-law from hell (Helene Brooks) in with a bunch of overtired, cranky, foul tempered teenagers who had been dragged from their hotel room in the dead of night (their words, though Aaron had privately agreed with their assessment), well, basically the day had been doomed from the start.

So after the pounding headache he'd developed during breakfast, from there it had been five freaking hours of traipsing along the Mall from to museum to museum with four million other tourists that were pushing and shoving to get into the lines to see the FREE exhibits that were open for another nine hours.

More torture.

Seriously, he was ready to dropkick somebody down a flight of stairs. There was only so much 'in law' time a man could take! The two hour dinner last night with just her parents, would have been MORE than enough of a visit to last him for the year. But no, Haley was expecting him to be sociable for the entire weekend.

Yeah, well, that was just NOT happening!

She'd pushed this one too far. Saturday fine, he'd finish out Saturday just because of the ongoing, nonspecific response situation . . . even if she didn't know about it, he kind of owed her a bit for that . . . but FUCK Sunday! He was sleeping in past Amish Wake Up Time, and then right before whatever the hell scheduled breakfast would be on the agenda, he was going to have a 'work emergency' that required him to go into the office. But actually he was thinking that maybe he'd just spend the day with Emily.

They could read her book.

But anyway, he thought with a wince while scrubbing his hand across his forehead, back to the now where his headache was increasing. But that's because Haley's family had been debating lunch options since she'd suggested they stop. And there was most definitely a fight heating up between her mother and her aunt over pizza or burgers. Because Christ knew they were both freaking DELICACIES that they could never buy ANYWHERE else!

And again, Haley was just letting them go!

And he did himself for another ten seconds . . . and that was SOLEY to give his wife the opportunity to wrangle her own family . . . but finally he'd reached his limit.

He stopped short and threw his hand up in the air.

"Jesus Christ, enough! It's one lunch, not the Last Supper!" He jerked his thumb of his shoulder, "I'm going to get a bag of burgers from McDonald's, and a couple of pizzas from Rocco's, and I'll meet you all back here on the Mall in," he looked down at his watch, "one hour."

Everyone stopped moving, everyone stopped talking. It was clear that A) nobody was prepared for him to interrupt Helene mid-sentence (nobody ever did that, and she was now shooting fireballs into his forehead because of it) and B), nor were they prepared for him to make the obvious compromise to just buy BOTH of the cheapest meals around! But really, what these people would do with themselves if they didn't create some kind of 'drama' about complete nonsense, he did not know. Either way, he was walking away from the group in T minus six seconds, whether anybody acknowledged his plans or not.

But then just before he started to turn around, finally Haley broke the silence.

"Uh, that sounds like a fair compromise," she shot her mother a quick look, "right mom?"

When she didn't receive any response beyond a glare, Haley quickly looked away.

Which did nothing for Aaron's temper . . . his wife REALLY needed to grow a backbone(!) . . . but he wasn't about to stick around and create a larger fireball than he already had.

So he just yanked his keys from his pocket.

"All right then," he started walking backwards, "one hour, I'll meet you by those trees out on the Mall in front of the Gallery."

His words were crisp and tight, and he ignored the look his wife shot him for his tone. Like HE was the bad guy here! He was having a HORRIBLE day! Everybody was having a horrible day! And he'd kept his temper, and let the Wicked Witch of Northern Virginia reign long enough!

Also if she called him "Alex" one more time . . . Alex being Haley's ex-boyfriend . . . then he was shoving her in the damn Reflecting Pool! Which meant that there was no apology either on the tip of his tongue, nor even anywhere down the pike.

Again, he was NOT the bad guy.

So after shooting his wife a look of his own . . . basically 'get this crew shaped up' . . . he spun around and started jogging down to where he'd parked the car two blocks away.

The sun was beating down like he was in Hades, but still, it seriously took everything in him not to just break into a flat out sprint. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd been so happy to get away from a group of people!

Maybe that bank robbery on Monday.

And yes, it was awful that he was equating time with his in-laws, with such a horrific event, but really, being forced to spend the day with Haley's relatives was, well, there were no words. He wasn't a fan of large groups of people, and he wasn't a fan of her extended family in general, so putting her LARGE extended family into an even LARGER group of complete strangers who had no idea what they were doing or where they were going, and it was a really just lucky he didn't carry a gun.

And her mother, JESUS CHRIST! Again, that woman was a walking nightmare. It was impossible for her to spout anything but negativity. Truly, every word she spoke was derisive and cutting.

And half the time, racist!

But not 'overtly' racist. There was just enough shading to her comments, that you couldn't quite come out and tell her off. Her father wasn't so bad by himself, but again, like Haley, he never spoke up against the wife.

It was a hell of a crew.

The only person Aaron _genuinely_ liked in the whole Brooks family (outside of Haley of course) was Haley's sister, Jessica. And as such she was the only one that he'd actually made any effort to speak to, last night or today. But over the combined eight plus hours they'd already been forced to spend together, they'd definitely covered about every level of small talk at their disposal. Basically since they'd left the space shuttle exhibit twenty minutes earlier, they'd been experiencing an awkward silence. That was still infinitely better though than the constant bickering which had been going on with the rest of the family. Even as he moved away, he could still hear them loudly grousing about something new.

It might have been whether they should go to view the modern art first, or the classics.

So he couldn't have been happier when he finally reached the other side of Constitution and turned back to see that the whole brightly colored gaggle of Brooks, was now a FADING spot on the horizon.

Excellent!

And _now _he could go see Emily! Which was really, a bit surprisingly, the only thing that had been getting him through the day. The constant vigilance of just WAITING for that exact moment when he'd be able to gnaw the chain off his ankle, and make a run for the hospital.

Two minutes later he was jumping into the car and using the back of his hand to wipe the beads of sweat off his forehead. Then he jammed the key into the ignition.

As the engine began to rumble, for the first time all day, he actually felt a genuine smile touch his lips.

FREEDOM!

*/*/*/*/*/*

Though Aaron knew that it would probably be more responsible to actually get the food first before he made his Emily visit, he didn't. Instead he just drove straight down to Foggy Bottom with the only stop along the way being to run into a McDonald's to buy a single medium sized chocolate shake. It wasn't for anybody in Haley's family.

It was for Emily.

And he had it discretely tucked down by his side as he walked back onto her ward again. By that point he'd spent so much time at the hospital, most of the medical staff and fellow regular visitors, knew who he was. So even though there were some new faces there on the weekend shift, he still got a wave and a smile from at least five different people as he headed around the familiar U shaped corridor.

He immediately returned each gesture with his own faint smile and a tip of the head.

It was strange how he could feel so much more at home with the staff and patients on a hospital ward . . . a place he'd been going to for less than a week . . . than he did with a family that he'd been married into for six years now. But of course that family was nothing to write home about.

At least nothing GOOD, to write home about.

And as such, he tried to just put him out of his head for the next ten minutes, so he could enjoy his brief visit with Emily.

That was his thought just as he came up on to her room. And of course he gave his usual quick knock before he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

It wasn't until he started to actually walk inside, that he paused.

She wasn't there.

The bed was empty.

And feeling an immediate tickle of unease at that development . . . he hoped she hadn't been taken back to surgery or something . . . he was just about to go back to the nurse's desk to find out where she was, when suddenly he heard a noise coming from the bathroom.

Oh, thank God!

And though he was relieved that she was now likely only six feet from where he'd last left her, and not down having her head opened up again, he was now actually even more perplexed. And that was because Emily wasn't supposed to be out of bed for any reason, for another two days.

Doctor's orders.

Though . . . he tipped his head slightly as he stepped inside her room and closed the door again . . . from what he'd learned of Emily over the last week, he already knew that she wasn't really one to do what she was told. It was a quality that he admired.

So after he'd placed the shake down on the bedside tray, he walked over and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Emily," he called out softly with another knock, "is that you in there?"

It took a second, but then her voice came back, tear filled . . . and in disbelief.

"Aaron, is that _you _out there?!"

"Yeah, um," he started to feel a little panicky at what sounded like her crying, "it's me. And I'm going to open the door now, okay? I just want to make sure that you're all right."

When she didn't answer him, he figured that she had to at least be fairly decent, so he slowly turned the handle. Then he stepped back a step so he could open the door.

What he saw made his heart jump into his throat.

Emily in a blood splattered hospital gown, sobbing on the floor, with a small puddle of MORE blood pooling next to her.

And then small SPLATTERS of blood all around her!

"JESUS CHRIST EMILY!" He rushed inside and dropped down to his knees, "what happened?!" He brushed his hands along her body, trying to figure out where she was bleeding from, "did you cut yourself?!"

And then he saw it.

Her IV had ripped out, the one on the back of her hand . . . that was the cause for the spurting, and the puddle on the floor.

There was a small trickle of crimson running down the back of her wrist.

And Emily was most definitely crying. In between the gasping breaths and the hiccups, he could make out two pleading phrases, "I don't want anyone to see me," and then, "please go away."

The words made his heart hurt, but of course he didn't leave her.

And though intellectually he knew that he should actually run and get help . . . he didn't do that either. Though there was no way that he was going to leave her alone, he also felt in his gut that if she was sobbing about not wanting anyone else to see her as she was, then it would have been a betrayal to run out and call a half dozen people into the room.

So instead . . . and most definitely against all logical or _responsible,_ instincts . . . he decided to just handle this all on his own.

Yeah, he was an idiot.

But after he'd yanked a clean towel down off the small stack on the counter, he carefully wrapped it around her bloody hand. Though the terrycloth turned reddish, it didn't actually soak through.

Good enough for now.

So he shifted his focus back to the larger issue at the moment, Emily huddled up in ball with her knees pressed to her chin.

Both her eyes, and her nose, were running down her face.

"Emily," he whispered anxiously as his hand came up to cup her jaw, "what are you _doing_ in here by yourself? What happened? And why are you crying?"

Her eyes snapped up to his and for a moment he was afraid that she wasn't going to answer. But then her clean hand came up to slap over her mouth.

"Because I'm a MONSTER!" She sobbed into her palm.

Aaron was so shocked at her response, that he actually flinched like he'd been slapped.

"A mon . . .?!"

And then he stopped, suddenly processing her words against the scene that he'd walked into. So he quickly looked around to take it all in again, and he realized then what had likely happened. She must have decided to come into the bathroom to check out her stitches. And she'd seen the black zipper running down the side of her head.

The one that nobody had prepared her for.

She'd probably yelped, and slapped her hand over her mouth, yanking out the IV. That would explain the splatter on her gown, the wall, and that adjacent part of the vanity.

Then she slumped down to the floor.

That was the puddle of blood next to her. And also the fluid that he could see dripping out of the line hanging down from the bags on the pole.

She was practically sitting in that puddle too.

'_Oh Emily_,' he thought with a stab of sympathy, _'what am I going to do with you?_

Well . . . his rational brain started to intercede again . . . first things first, he needed to soothe her fears AND get her up off the floor.

And basically he needed to do both at the same time.

"Emily," he murmured softly while leaning in to slip his arms around her body, "you're _not_ a monster. The stitches will come out," he hoisted her up into his arms and came back to his feet, "your scar will fade, your hair will grow in, and you're going to look just like yourself again."

"But right now I look like FRANKENSTEIN!" she sobbed with a flap of her hand.

"No," he quickly shook his head as his expression softened, "no, you do NOT. Your face is perfect. It's just your incision that needs to heal."

"But what if my hair doesn't grow in over the scar?" she sniffled.

And to that, he found himself giving her a sad smile.

"Worst case, you can get a wig," he answered honestly, "but I'm sure it won't come to that, and even if it did," he added softly, "you'd still be beautiful. The scar doesn't matter."

Emily blinked up at him in surprise.

"You still think I'm pretty," she sniffed as her tears started to taper, "even looking like this?"

Aaron's brow darkened.

"Of course I do, I have eyes don't I? Now come on," he hoisted her up a little higher, trying unsuccessfully to hold her firmly while still keeping his arms off her bare backside . . . no underwear in the hospital . . . it just wasn't possible, "let's get you back to bed."

It was very strange holding her this way. He hadn't held any woman but Haley, in seven years. And though he obviously wasn't viewing Emily in a 'sexual' light at the moment . . . she was crying in his arms . . . it was nearly impossible to ignore the fact that her gown had ridden up, and basically he was touching nothing but bare skin. And that skin was so soft.

And it was EVERYWHERE!

But he pushed that thought aside . . . and the images that came with it . . . as he turned around in the small bathroom, and VERY carefully angled Emily's body to make sure that her head wouldn't touch the door frame when he carried her out.

Once they'd cleared that hurdle, he walked over and gently placed her down in the middle of her rumpled sheets. Again, she immediately brought her knees up to her chest.

From his college psych classes he knew that was a classic defensive posture, but he ignored it to take a tissue from the box on her tray.

He gently wiped her face.

Then he took another tissue, and made her blow her nose. By then she'd finally stopped crying. So after a pat of her knee, he hurried back into the bathroom, dug out a stack of cheap paper towels, and a bottle of industrial strength cleaner from under the sink, before quickly wiping up the blood and other fluids from the floor and the counter.

And the tile wall.

Again, there had been 'spurting' when the line had come out in there. But he didn't want anybody _else _to know that's where the line had come out. Because it had occurred to him when he was cleaning Emily's face, that it would cause MAJOR problems for her if the nurses found out that she'd gotten herself out of bed and was moving around on her own. They might sedate her.

Or put her in restraints.

And given the nightmares that Emily was having already, either of those options would just add an additional layer of hell to them.

And he wouldn't do that to her.

So after he'd jammed all the dirty paper towels into the hazardous disposal bag in the corner of her room, he ran back into the bathroom to wash his hands and grab her IV stand.

When he came out into her room for the third time, now slightly breathless, he rolled the stand up next to the bed. Finally he hit the call button for the nurse.

Emily was still sitting hunched over, rubbing her eye with her first. After biting his lip for a second, he sat down beside her. He reached over to lightly squeeze her ankle.

"How long were you in there?" He asked softly, and she shrugged.

"I don't know," she sniffed as she looked up at him, "sometime after Eddie took away my lunch tray. My parents had come this morning, and when they left, they said they wouldn't be back until dinner. And I figured you wouldn't be here until later either, so I thought," she shrugged, "well, I don't know what I thought. I just suddenly needed to see it." Her eyes started to water again as her voice thickened, "but I wish I hadn't."

It was so stupid! She should have just waited a few more days. Maybe it would have been better then.

Or at least less AWFUL!

"Yeah," Aaron gave a weary sigh, "I wish you hadn't either. Not by yourself. You should have told me, and I would have brought in a mirror, and we could have talked about it first before you saw it."

Feeling a jolt of surprise, Emily looked over at him.

"You would have done that for me?"

Yet again he amazes her with his thoughtfulness. And now she REALLY wished that she'd mentioned this idea to him first!

That would have been the best way to do it.

"Of course, I'd actually been worried about you seeing it." Then his brow furrowed, "and NOW I'm worried that the nurses are going to put you into restraints for getting up and tearing out the IV." He turned to look at her, "did you think of that?"

"What?!" Her watery eyes popped open, "no! But I didn't mean to pull it out! They can't do that to me just for an accident, can they?!"

Oh shit!

"They might," he shrugged, "I don't know, we'll just have to . . ."

And just then the door opened.

Fortunately it was a nurse that Aaron recognized. Nurse Patty. But _un_fortunately he'd first met her the night that Emily was spitting out her Jell-O into Patty's hand.

It wasn't a pleasant scene.

And knowing that the two of them already had a somewhat adversarial relationship, he quickly hopped up and went into schmoozing lawyer mode.

"Hi Patty," he gave her his most solicitous smile, complete with half a dimple, "sorry to bother you, but," he gestured behind him, "we had a slight mishap here. Emily moved her arm too fast and accidentally pulled out her IV."

Pretty much every sentence there was totally not the truth. Now he just hoped that Patty was either really dumb . . . not necessarily a quality you'd hope for in an ICU nurse . . . or she would be kind enough to just let the lie go without punishing Emily.

That was really where he was placing all of his chips.

For a second though, he had no idea which way things were going to go. Patty was just standing there, staring as she looked back and forth between him and Emily.

Then he saw her gaze drop down to the slightly bloody towel.

"Hmm," Patty murmured to herself as she walked over to the box to get a fresh pair of gloves, "it's funny, but I've never seen an IV pop out and the only blood spilled," she snapped on the first glove, "was on the patient's gown and the visitor's shirt."

Her words were dripping with sarcasm. And when she moved on to the second glove, Aaron's gaze immediately snapped down to see that he had a smear of red across his light blue golf shirt. He'd totally missed it, but it must have happened when he was scooping Emily up off the floor. His head snapped back up.

"Uhhh . . ."

It was the first time in his adult life, that he was actually speechless.

But then Patty looked over at him and winked.

"We'll chalk this one up to a random act of physics," her eyes bounced to Emily's, "but if it happens _again_," she shot her a knowing look before her attention shifted down to the bloody towel, "then we're going to have to consider getting some straps to keep those arms from 'randomly' flailing about, understood?"

Emily nodded contritely.

"Yes, ma'am," she responded softly, "I understand. And um," she cleared her throat, "I'm sorry about the Jell-O."

Patty's lips twitched.

"That Jell-O is admittedly, somewhat disgusting. I know nobody likes the green, but that's usually all we get here. So," she patted Emily's arm, "we'll just forget that you spit it out in my hand. And besides," she straightened up with a slow exhale, "it looks like your husband brought you something better than lime gelatin."

"Huh?"

Emily looked up at Aaron in confusion, and he pointed to the tray.

"Oh yeah, I brought you a shake."

Once again both he and Emily let the husband assumption go. They'd tried to get the notation taken off all of her records, and though it had been corrected in the computer, it kept turning up on the hard copies of her files.

So many photocopies had been made off those intake forms.

It also didn't help that he actually HAD actively posed as her husband for the first nine hours of her admission, and then had showed up for a private visit with her every day since she'd been admitted. So now six days in, it was pretty much impossible to convince anybody on the floor that he was anything but what they'd already pegged him as being.

Her '_loving'_ spouse.

And after Emily sot him a little smile, and a, "thanks," he popped her straw out of the wrapper and slipped it down into her shake for her. And seeing that Patty was about to start changing Emily into a clean gown . . . and obviously thinking nothing of doing it in front of him because he was her 'husband' . . . he quickly crouched down to busy himself with a non-existent shoe lace issue.

Once he heard the, "there we go," he slowly came back up to his feet.

It was just in time to see Patty moving on to the next item on her checklist. First she cleaned up Emily's wrist and hand and then she put in a new line, and got her resituated with her standard pain killer/antibiotic combo IV, PLUS a new bag of plasma to help make up for the blood lost in the 'incident.'

Even with her briefly stepping out of the room to get the IV bags, the whole process only took about five minutes.

Then she popped off her gloves and tossed them into the biohazard trash where he'd tossed all of the dirty paper towels.

Fortunately she didn't poke her head in there.

Instead she just wagged her finger at Emily, "you be careful now," then she walked over and put her hand on Aaron's back. She leaned up.

"And next time you call me first," she whispered in his ear. After he gave a contrite, "yes, ma'am," she patted his arm and left the room.

Once they were alone again, Aaron looked down at Emily.

She was giving him a sheepish smile.

"Sorry for being such a bother."

He rolled his eyes.

"Don't be silly," he muttered while walking over to sit down on the edge of the bed again, "you've never been a bother. You're," his eyes crinkled, "an experience."

She grinned.

"That's the nicest term I've ever heard for, 'complete pain in the ass.'"

"Yeah, well," his lips twitched, "potato, potahto. So anyway," he pushed himself up again, "I have to get going. I need to get back to . . ."

And then he suddenly remembered where he was supposed to be and his eyes shot down to the watch on his wrist.

"Ah, shit," he winced, "I was supposed to meet Haley and her family in like eleven minutes with their lunch." He scrubbed his hands down his face.

"Well, that's not happening," he mumbled to himself.

God, this was going to be bad. It was going to be SO bad! He had no way of reaching Haley, and best case, it was going to take him another forty minutes to get back down there with everything that he was supposed to pick up.

"Oh Aaron," Emily's face twisted, "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

"No," he dropped his hand down to give her a look, "it is absolutely NOT your fault at all. And besides, obviously it was much better that I was here to find you, and that you're okay. But now," he sighed, "I just need to magically teleport myself over to The Mall in front of the National Gallery with two cheese pizzas and a bag full of burgers and fries."

"Oh!" Emily's eyes popped, "wait, is that all you needed to get? I can do that!"

Thank God! FINALLY she could do something for him, after everything that he'd done for her!

"Really, are you a genie?" Aaron asked wryly, but she ignored him to point anxiously to the phone on the side table, "grab the phone please, I swear Aaron," she looked up at him anxiously, "I swear I can get it done. Just give me two minutes."

Though he wasn't at all sure what magical pizza/burger line she was going to call, he wasn't about to argue with the girl who was attempting to keep him from having the mother of all mother in-law blowouts, so he just picked up the phone as requested, and put it down on the bed next to her leg.

She snatched up the receiver, moved her finger down to the punch pad . . . and stopped.

Then she looked up at him with a mixture of irritation and confusion.

"I can't remember the damn number." With a faint scowl she used the same finger to point back to the bedside table, "can you please get my purse out of the bottom drawer?"

This time Aaron didn't even pause to ask another question, he just stooped down to yank her bag out from where she said it was. He put it down next to the phone.

After a few seconds of rifling around, Emily pulled out a tiny black address book.

The leather was well worn.

"Damn it," he huffed while crossing his arms at his chest, "I was looking for that the other day when you were hurt. All I could find for phone numbers was your dad's business card."

"There's a little zippered compartment in the bottom of the bag," she explained while flipping through the small book, "it's easy to miss. I think it's designed to hide emergency money, but I keep this in there so I don't lose it. I also keep a twenty in there and two dollars in quarters, in case you ever need some change."

Aaron was about to tell her that he _could_ have used the quarters the other day, but right then was when she seemed to find the listing that she wanted. Her eyes widened and she snatched up the receiver. That's when Aaron piped up, "don't forget to dial nine," and she nodded, "yep right."

And then she began to dial what seemed to be a local number.

He definitely saw a 757.

But it wasn't until the other person answered, and she'd said hello, that Aaron realized who she'd called. A slow grin spread across his face.

Mr. Makepeace.

Apparently he wasn't just the Ambassador's fixer, he was Emily's as well. Because after a brief exchange of pleasantries where she assured him that no, she had not broken out of the hospital (Aaron put his hand over his mouth to smother that resulting chuckle), and yes, she had received his card, it was very nice, thank you, she quickly explained what it was that she needed him to get, where she needed him to have it delivered, and who she needed it to be delivered to.

_The Hotchner Party. _

After a moment of silence where she listened to whatever Makepeace was saying, she put her hand over the mouthpiece and looked over at him.

"How many drinks?"

"Uh, uh," Aaron sputtered for a second before doing a quick mental count, "about a dozen, please. Mix of diet and regular soda if possible."

Her lip quirked up.

"Anything's possible with Makepeace."

Then she pulled her hand down and repeated the drink order into the phone. After another, "uh, huh," and then, "literally ASAP," she hung up the phone.

She looked over at Aaron.

"He said it'll be there within ten minutes."

"But," Aaron tipped his head in amazement, "how?"

She shrugged.

"He can do anything. He's worked for my mother for as long as I can remember, and seriously, literally, the man can do _anything_. He knows everybody in this town, and right now he's probably calling somebody around the Capitol who owes him a favor. You know the food is only a block away from where you want it to be, you just need to have somebody run in to get it, and then run it over to where you want it to be. And besides," she gave him a little smile, "he likes you. He came in with my mother on Wednesday and told me so. He was very impressed with your character," she tipped her head, "you know, staying with me and all. So he was happy to help."

"Wow that's," he shook his head, "amazing. Thank you very much for that, and please tell him I said thank you as well. You both have definitely saved me from having a hellish night. But unfortunately," he took a breath, "I need to get going down there myself, or I'm _still_ going to have a hellish night."

"But uh," she pointed sheepishly, "what about your shirt?"

"Ah, right," his eyes dropped down, "my shirt. Well," he looked back up, "this is actually not bad. I'll just tell them that I got a bloody nose and that's why I was late getting back and that's why I had the food delivered. I needed to stop and change." He smirked, "I'll just get one of those 'I Heart DC' t-shirts they sell on every single corner from here to the Capitol."

Really, what was one more white lie after the week of ones he'd already told?

"Heh," Emily chuckled, "no, you should get one of the FBI ones instead. Then you'll look cool."

"Yeah," he snorted slightly, "maybe. So," he took a breath, "okay, you," he wagged his finger at her just as nurse Patty had, "stay off your feet, and away from that mirror. You can't afford to lose any more blood this week."

"I know," Emily amusement faded as her gaze shifted over to the new bag of plasma solution hanging off her pole, "it's just going to extend my stay here. So I promise I will stay off my feet and away from the mirror." She looked back up at him, "thanks again though for um," she tipped her head, "well, collecting me off the floor." Her brow wrinkled slightly as she flashed back to their first meeting, "seems like you do that a lot. And each time I have on less clothes than the last."

Yes, she had realized that her butt had been hanging out of her gown when he'd picked her up. But _fortunately_, she hadn't realized that until AFTER he'd already put her back to bed.

Then she decided that in the grand scheme . . . and after the week that they'd already had . . . it didn't really matter.

"Hmph," Aaron tipped his head, "that's true. I'm almost afraid to come back tomorrow. I might find you in pasties and plastic wrap."

Emily burst out laughing.

"Get out of here!" she threw a crumpled up tissue at him, "you're going to miss your free lunch!"

God, he was the most ridiculous man she'd ever met!

"Yes, ma'am," Aaron winked. Then he leaned down to fix her blankets.

"And don't forget," he whispered, "scar or not, you're still the prettiest girl I've met all month." Then he pulled away with half a dimple.

"See you tomorrow."

"Right," her eyes crinkled as she waved, "bye."

After he walked out, she looked down at the blanket he so carefully covered her up with each day before he left. Then she took a breath, and leaned over to open the top drawer of her dresser.

She pulled out the green notebook that her mother had brought in for her that morning. It was one of the 'hobby items,' on the list that Aaron had written out for her parents.

Paper for writing letters.

And though Emily couldn't actually think of anyone at the moment that she wanted to write to, she did have a few thoughts that she wanted to get down. Given how much her family had traveled, and how hellish her (fairly recent) teen years had been, she still didn't have very many close friends.

Or friends, really.

Yeah, there were some girls at school that she hung out with to go drinking or play pool, but their backgrounds were so different that it was hard to find things in common.

Nobody actually had lived a life like hers.

So for the most part she kept her own counsel, which meant that she often found herself putting her thoughts down in a journal rather than sharing them with a girlfriend. It wasn't that she kept a diary really, but more that sometimes she'd work through her feelings about new, or complicated issues, by jotting them down.

It helped to clear her mind.

And God knew that her mind _definitely_ needed clearing at the moment! And though the doctor had told her to limit her reading to not 'strain her brain,' he hadn't mentioned anything about writing. And it's not like she was looking to pen the Great American Novel, she just wanted to get a few thoughts out. But now that she'd opened her page and picked up a pen, she was just staring down blankly at the white paper. Her brow creased.

_Where to begin?_

/*/*/*/*/*

That evening, Aaron opted out of the family trip to see the newest Charlie Sheen movie . . . Hot Shots Part Deux, Haley didn't even try to guilt him about that one . . . to instead stay home and watch the Sox game. But unfortunately it ended up on a rain delay, and with nothing really to do, he found himself back in his car.

Soon he was driving over the river into Georgetown and back up towards the city proper.

And though it wasn't really planned, at least not consciously, it came of no surprise when he found the hospital coming up on his right.

He immediately turned off, and a few seconds later, pulled into the parking garage.

And approximately eight minutes after _that_, he ducked back into Emily's room six hours after he'd last left it. Though he wasn't sure if she'd be sleeping, or her parents might be visiting instead he found her alone, with the lights down. She was watching TV.

But her face lit up when he stepped through the doorway.

"You're back!" She cried out happily as she fumbled to turn off the television.

And though he knew that it wasn't really appropriate that he should be feeling that same amount of happiness to see her, as she clearly did to see him, he couldn't help it. When he saw her, there was a warmth that filled him. And he still didn't quite understand why.

Or why he was so drawn to her in general.

But on that night at least, he knew exactly why he was there visiting. He walked up to Emily's bed with a white plastic bag in his hand. He held it out to her.

"For you," he said with a little smile.

Her curiosity peaked, Emily's brow wrinkled in amusement as she took the bag from him. When she opened it up, inside she found a small white t-shirt. When she pulled it out, she snorted at the design.

_I Heart D.C._

And it was in bright red letters. She looked up at Aaron with a grin and he shrugged.

"It was buy one get one free."

She burst out laughing.

"Ha, ha! Well, thanks!"

"Yeah," his eyes crinkled as he put up his hand and started backing up, "you're welcome. See you tomorrow. I'll be here around eleven."

Then he stepped out, and pulled the door shut behind him. Basically he was gone just as quickly as he'd arrived.

Feeling a little flutter in her stomach, Emily stared at the closed door, and then down at the t-shirt in her lap. Finally she reached over to pick up her pen, and open notebook, from where they were sitting on the bed tray.

The page was still blank.

She hadn't been able to think of what to write down earlier, but this time she felt no such hesitation. And it was only a few seconds later that she was putting the pen back on the tray. She looked down at the words she'd written on the page.

_I think I'm falling in love._

Accurate . . . her brow wrinkled . . . but not complete. So she reached over to pick up the pen again. And with a sigh, she added one more line.

_Crap._

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Obviously a little bit of foreshadowing here with her joke about the FBI t-shirt, and his 'profiling' of the bathroom scene without Emily fully explaining to him what had happened. It's just an indicator that he does have a knack for this job, that he doesn't even know exists yet._

_And my nephew did accidentally tear out his IV while he was in the ICU, and they DID tie down his arms, and he was NOT happy. _

_Beyond that, if you're a reader of the Girl'verse, you'll notice a lot of little bits being pulled in here. It's kind of a scavenger hunt of what's new information, and what's existing. Existing of course is Haley's mom being a terror, her propensity to call him 'Alex' to piss him off and his affection for the Red Sox from his days at Harvard. And I see 'younger Aaron' being more likely to actually sit and watch a game than older, battle weary, workaholic, Hotch. So little pieces of himself that were lost when we met him later, that maybe he can still hold onto, if his life is shifting down a slightly different path than it did in canon._

_Lastly, I did google to see what films came out in May of 1993, and Hot Shots, Part Deux, really did come out that weekend. And it is totally a film I can see that family going to, and totally not a film that Hotch would ever see, even if somebody put a gun to his head._


	11. Passing Afternoons

**Author's Note**: Picks up Sunday.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Passing Afternoons<strong>

"So," Aaron slipped his finger between the pages of their book, before looking over at Emily, "are you getting hungry yet?"

It was Sunday, early afternoon and so far they'd been reading for almost an hour. Basically since he'd arrived in her room at a little after eleven.

By then he'd already been up for half the day.

In an effort to avoid the torture that would have been the 'Brooks Sunday Morning Waffle House Gathering,' he'd run out before any of them had shown up at the apartment. That was at eight am. So he'd ended up only having coffee for breakfast . . . on the go . . . as he drove around the back roads of Fairfax County, killing the hours until he was sure that Emily would be awake. That was honestly the level of contempt that he'd reached for his in-laws that weekend.

He'd rather drive around doing absolutely NOTHING, than spend even one more minute with any of them.

He really should have stopped for breakfast a couple counties over though. Because he hadn't eaten anything since a handful of peanuts before he went to bed last night, and now his stomach was REALLY starting to grumble. He figured Emily's would be as well.

But then he saw her looking back at him with a faint pout.

"What's the matter?" he asked worriedly.

"I've been hungry for the last six days," she responded with a sad exhale.

"Oh," his nose wrinkled, "right. Sorry." Then he continued while slipping the bookmark from his jeans pocket to tuck it into the middle of chapter six. "Well, did they give you an end date yet for the soft diet?"

After eating lime gelatin and creamed vegetables for a week, as Emily had been, he'd be ready to kill someone. Actually he probably wouldn't have even lasted the time that she had.

The first death would have been about Day Three.

"No," Emily scowled down at her lap, "and it's starting to really tick me off. I mean God," her eyes snapped back up to his, "it's not like I had stomach surgery, or _throat _surgery, so really what is the big deal if I eat a cheeseburger? What exactly is going to happen to me if I ingest CHEWABLE FOOD?!"

Yes, okay, her tone did inch up a bit towards the hysterical there at the end. But she was seriously getting so desperate for solid food, that she would have welcomed a trip down to the cafeteria to try whatever they were passing off as meatloaf this week. Yes, she had descended so low, that she was craving HOSPITAL cafeteria food!

Pretty soon she was going to need a psychiatric consultation!

"I don't know," Aaron answered with a sympathetic sigh while leaning over to put her book down on the nightstand, "it must just be some rule they have that applies to all major surgeries. Or maybe it's an ICU rule." His eyebrow ticked up as he looked over at her, "that's actually possible. Maybe it is just the ward."

"Ah man," Emily's mouth twisted, "I hope that's not true. I'm not getting out of here for probably another week."

Yesterday, her surgeon had told her, "best case," maybe Thursday. Which was still four more days away.

She wasn't going to last that long eating mush.

"_But_," Aaron tipped his head back at her, "on the upside, if that is _all_ it is, and I will confirm that with the nurses, then maybe I could smuggle you in some contraband."

Though he obviously would not assist her in breaking the soft food diet if there was a medical reason for it, if it was just a general policy for the ward, then he saw no reason why she should have to suffer through another day of eating lime Jell-O and creamed spinach. Nobody was going to get well eating that crap.

Nobody _could_ eat that crap!

"Oooh," Emily's face lit up, "could you please?! I'd seriously offer up my first born for a Quarter Pounder and a large fry."

Hotch's lip quirked up.

"Good thing Rumpelstiltskin isn't around then," he responded drily. "But keep your expectations down for now. You know we're not sure if you're allowed to have burgers and bread yet."

Emily leaned forward.

"Well," she whispered conspiratorially, "then how what about French fries and fondue?"

"Emily," Aaron raised his eyebrow, "where am I going to get _takeout_ fondue on a Sunday afternoon? Or, ever?"

"Oh," she frowned and flopped back against her pillow, "right. That's not one of your more common take out foods."

"Not since the seventies," Aaron responded drily, "no. But before you get any more excited about eating something besides the creamed spinach," he pushed back his chair, "let me go talk to Nancy. I saw she was on the desk, and she seems to like you." He smirked, "and the other day she was flirting with _me_, so I think she's our best bet."

Thank God it wasn't Nurse Patty working today. They'd definitely already used up their allotted favors for the week with her.

And he was about to stand up, but then he noticed that Emily's brow had darkened. So his own eyebrow quirked up.

"What's wrong?'

"Nancy's been _flirting_ with you?!" Emily snorted with no small amount of indignation, "but you're my fake husband! That's so sleazy!"

Yeah, they weren't really married, but what if they were?! And he was wearing that damn wedding ring, so he was clearly married to SOMEONE!

Damn hussy!

"I know," Aaron shook his head, "it's a sad state of affairs when people can't even respect the sanctity of a fake marriage, but," he raised an eyebrow, "if it gets you a Quarter Pounder, do you really care how sleazy she is?"

For a second Emily stared back at him blankly. Then with her IV hand, she pointed towards his mouth.

"Don't forget to flash both those dimples. I want fries too."

His lips twitched.

"Yeah, I thought you'd see it that way." Then he pushed himself to his feet, "all right, back in a flash."

After she'd watched Aaron step out into the corridor, Emily leaned back against her pillow again.

It was really kind of amazing that he'd decided to spend the whole day with her. But unfortunately she was starting to worry that wouldn't be able to enjoy all of that planned visitation time.

She was feeling a bit sleepy.

Though she'd never tell Aaron (because she wouldn't want him to LEAVE!) but he'd arrived right before her morning nap time. And yes it was sad, pathetically so, that she was a twenty-two point five year old woman with a morning nap time (and an afternoon nap time), but she knew that her body was still healing. Not to mention the drugs were still sucking down her energy. Basically they made her feel kind of sluggish.

Especially at the moment.

But maybe . . . she slowly exhaled as her lashes began to flutter . . . if she just rested her eyes for a minute, that would perk her back up again. It seemed like a good plan. But then the next thing she knew, somebody was squeezing her hand.

Her eyes slowly opened.

Aaron.

"Oh, hey," she mumbled while slowly bring her other hand up to smother a yawn, "sorry, didn't hear you come back in. Must have fallen asleep for a minute."

Oops.

Aaron's eyes crinkled.

"More like forty-five minutes," he huffed, "I came back from the nurse's desk to find that you'd pulled a Sleeping Beauty. So I went out to get your lunch." He shook the bag he was holding in his free hand. "Small cheeseburger, small fry, small chocolate shake."

Seeing Emily's sleepy face suddenly light up with joy, he smiled with both dimples.

She really was too adorable.

"Really?" She asked with wide eyes, "it's totally been cleared and everything?"

"Yeah," he confirmed with some amusement, "Nancy said it was okay. But," he sobered up a bit, "she also said to go easy. Little bites, and make sure that you don't scarf it all done at once. You might throw up," he tipped his head, "and that would be bad." Then his gaze briefly flickered down to the bag in his hand. "That's also why I got the smaller version of your requested meal. Your stomach has shrunk a bit, so this should more than fill you up."

Feeling a burst of excitement piling onto her initial burst of joy, Emily pulled her hand out of Aaron's to start clapping.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, for being an amazingly awesome human! And I promise," she nodded seriously as she put her IV hand in the air, "I'll eat super slow. Hell, if it would make it better, I'll even cut everything up into tiny, little pieces. Just find me some silverware."

GOD! This man could work MIRACLES!

"Actually," Aaron's lip quirked up as he gestured over to Emily's tray where an empty plate, and a set of hospital issued silverware were already sitting, "I did make that proposal to Nancy. It was what made her agree to let you have solid food today. Apparently after any genuine medical concerns have passed, it _is_ an ICU rule. But she said as long as the bites were small, and you chewed them to mush, and I was sitting right here with you to watch you eat, it would be all right. So just follow the rules," his lip quirked up, "okay?"

"Okay," Emily gave him a little smile, "I promise. And thanks."

"Yeah," he shot her a dimple, "no problem. So," he took a breath and stood up, "let's get this gourmand feast pulled together!"

And with that he pulled out first the fries, then the burger. The fries he dumped directly onto the plate. The burger, after it was unwrapped, he placed down on the side. At that point Emily started to reach for her silverware, but he just murmured, "I got it," as he caught her hand, and gave her fingers a quick squeeze. Then he took the fork and knife, and cut up everything on the plate into child food size pieces. When he was done, he turned the fork around, and handed it to Emily.

"All set."

She looked down at the tiny little morsels on the plate, and then back up to him standing next to the bed.

"Thanks," she said softly, "looks really good."

Granted, after eating creamed vegetables and nasty Jell-O for most of the week, almost anything would look good. But it was just so adorably sweet that he'd cut up her food for her.

And so to be polite . . . though she was bursting with excitement, not to mention STARVING(!) . . . she waited until he'd sat back down and picked up his own McDonald's bag, before she started to eat. But once she saw him pop a fry into his mouth, she speared her own sliver of crispy potato.

When it hit her tongue, she closed her eyes and moaned happily to herself.

"Oh baby, mmm, that's it right there."

But then she heard Aaron chuckling and her eyes popped open to see him grinning at her.

"You know," he snorted, "that's the least amount of effort I've ever had to make, to get a woman to say that to me!"

She burst out laughing.

"Dirty, dirty boy," she chuckled.

He just winked and went back to his chicken sandwich.

And when lunch was done, or at least as much as Emily could finish all at once . . . Aaron was right about her stomach shrinking, she left the equivalent of three fries and a quarter of her burger on the plate . . . Aaron pulled out their book again.

They read for a while longer, Emily with her eyes closed, just listening to the cadence of Aaron's voice as he spoke.

It was soothing.

And they'd just reached the point where Jane had begun hearing strange sounds at night, when she heard Aaron ask softly.

"Hey, Emily, did you want to talk about those bad dreams?"

"Um," Emily's eyes popped right before her jaw twitched, "uh, I don't know." Her gaze flickered down to the book and then back up to his face, "we're kind of having a nice time right now so I'm not sure if I want to dig into that at the moment." Her eyebrow inched up, "maybe a little later?"

"Yeah," his eyes crinkled slightly, "sure, if that's what you'd prefer. Everybody's out until at least four, so I was going to stay a few more hours."

Given Jane's nocturnal disturbances, reading that passage was a clear line of sight back to Emily's nighttime issues. But if she didn't want to talk right now that was fine. He just didn't want to forget. So he started to raise the book again.

But then something else distracted him.

How completely alone they were.

"Where are you parents today?" He asked with some confusion, "I figured they'd have been here by now."

Emily shrugged.

"Eh," she blew out a puff of air, "they're working. Dad stopped in last night, woke me up around midnight to say he had to leave town, and he'd see me in a couple days. And mother stopped in early this morning to say that she was going to New York. There are some meetings at the UN this week that she can't miss. She said she'll be home on Thursday."

"Wait, so," Aaron's brow wrinkled, "they've _both_ gone out of town?"

Though he appreciated that both of Emily's parents clearly had 'important' jobs, he really couldn't believe that they had just left her alone in the hospital when she was still recovering from major BRAIN surgery!

She wasn't even out of the ICU yet!

But when he saw Emily sigh, and he realized that what was a point of disbelief for him, seemed to be a point of resignation for her.

Poor thing.

"Yeah," Emily's jaw twitched, "that's how it goes in my family. You don't even understand, it was a really big deal for them to both be around all this last week. The last time they both took time off together, was when I . . ."

And then she stopped, realizing that she was about to tell him about her attack. And she didn't talk about that, to anyone. But seeing Aaron's eyebrow quirk up when she failed to finish her sentence, Emily realized that she needed to at least complete the thought.

"Something happened when I was younger," she explained softly, "something I don't talk about. But suffice it to say, that was the last time I was in the hospital, and that was the last time either of them took a day off."

For a second Aaron stared back at Emily, he was biting down on his lip. He could see that just sharing as much as she had with him . . . without even sharing the details . . . had been a big deal for her.

An offering of trust.

So he figured that he should return the favor . . . as much as he was capable of anyway.

"I have some things I don't talk about either," he responded softly while reaching over to catch her fingers, "so I understand about not getting into details. But," he squeezed her hand, "I'll listen if you do want to talk."

Feeling her eyes start to burn, Emily sucked in a ragged breath.

"Thanks," she whispered back, "I kind of wish that I could, but um," she swallowed, "all that's kind of locked up tight now, and I'm afraid of what could happen if I open those boxes up." Then her lips pursed with a bit of embarrassment. "Uh, that's how I deal with stuff," she quickly explained, "I have these little, you know, metaphorical boxes in my head, something bad happens, I label it, and shove it away." She bit down on her lip as her eyes started to burn, "I guess maybe that isn't always the healthiest way to deal with real trauma, like what happened this week, but," she tried to blink back the moisture in her eyes, "it's all I know."

Aaron's lips twisted in a faint smile.

"I do the same thing," he said softly, "though I don't have any boxes, just," his jaw clenched, "repression. And like you said, it might not always be the healthiest thing, but it's all I know."

Sometimes he thought it might be nice to be like other people, to talk about his problems rather than just shoving them down into the dark. But he'd never had anyone he trusted that much to even try. And at this point, he knew that it was already too late for him to change his personality in such a fundamental way anyway.

His dye was cast long ago.

But seeing Emily wiping the corner of her eye, suddenly he wished that there was something that he could do for her. To help her not be so emotionally repressed like him.

Even if she already was.

"What do you think," he started slowly, a bit concerned about Emily's reaction to what he was going to propose, "about us maybe talking about the bank?"

And seeing her brow crease, he hastened to soothe over whatever worries were now being conjured up in her brain.

"Not today," he hastened with a gentle pat on her arm, "not if you're not ready. But maybe next week we could try."

"But why," she sniffed, "I thought you just said that you don't like to talk about the bad stuff either?"

"I don't," he responded with a scrub of his hand across his chin, "but I was just thinking, well," he slowly exhaled, "this is kind of a unique situation, you know, being that it's something that we went through together. So why couldn't we try to _work _through it together? It might be a nice change, you know?"

It really was NOT his way, to share any of his psychological burdens with anyone, ever. Even Haley knew practically nothing about the darkness he carried in him. But the trauma at the bank was something that they had _already_ shared. And if it could help lessen Emily's load over that, even just a little by talking it over, then he would willing to give it a shot. Because she did seem to be someone who was almost as psychologically weighed down as he was.

And he hated that.

He really did. She was so bright and sweet, she shouldn't have to have the same shadows on her soul. And from her acknowledgment a moment ago of an earlier physical trauma, resulting in the previous extended hospital visit . . . another one bad enough to again bring her parents chaotic lives to a complete halt . . . that pained him even more. The thought of what could have happened to her, a pretty young girl, it made him feel a little sick.

And he could now understand why it was that she'd been in tears at the thought of being forced to stay at GWU for the weeks that it was going to take her to heal. Clearly that was her new trauma, digging up her old one. That was probably part of what was feeding her nightmares too, he realized with a sigh.

_Some people just couldn't catch a break._

But regardless of his thoughts on this matter, how it might be good for her to get a little of that ugliness off her chest, Emily had just been staring back at him for a few seconds now. Her expression was blank, and he had no idea if she was going to agree to talk, or not. But then finally she gave him a slow nod.

"Yeah," she bit down her lip, "okay, I guess, maybe we could talk about that a bit."

Though Emily hadn't previously believed that she'd ever meet anyone that she'd wish to discuss her feelings with on any topic of sensitivity . . . Aaron was different. She'd felt oddly connected to him since that first moment she'd felt the little spark when their hands had touched. He was a person who seemed to understand her.

And she'd never had one of those before.

Plus, he had a point too about their 'shared' trauma thing. That was also unusual for her. Being an only child, with the strangest upbringing imaginable, it had been nearly impossible to find a common history of experiences . . . good or bad . . . with anyone. And though she'd gotten this far in life just fine with her casual friends and her 'shove it down and don't ever think about it again,' approach to the bad stuff in life, she did have her occasional worries that one day her little boxes might stop working for her. That they might get overloaded.

That she might explode.

So it would be good if she could avoid, you know, being institutionalized. Or imprisoned. But also, seeing Aaron's look of relief that she'd agreed to talk, kind of alone made it worthwhile. It was nice to make him happy.

It made her happy too.

And so when he reached out to catch her fingers, she gave them a little squeeze. And she did so hate to let them go.

She liked holding his hand.

And yes, she knew that was bad, wedding ring, slippery slope, etc., etc., but she didn't care. At the moment, regardless of Aaron's comments on the matter, she knew that she looked like Frankenstein's monster. And without the good hair. So it wasn't like there was any worry about sexual tension between them. Not like the day that they'd met. Because really, who was going to be attracted to her looking the way she did now?

Nobody, that's who.

So when she felt the faint pull of Aaron starting to take his fingers back . . . he was shifting the book on his leg, about to pick it up again . . . she held onto his hand just a little tighter.

"How about we watch TV for a bit, instead of reading?" She asked with a soft smile, "I saw one of the local stations was running Casablanca this afternoon." Her eyes flickered over to the clock on the wall and then back to him, "it should have just started I think."

She watched as Aaron's eyes widened, and his mouth curved in that hint of a smile that she was growing to love. And then he nodded as he reached over to pick up the remote on the blanket, instead of the book on his lap.

"Sounds good," he said with a little nod, "I like Humphrey Bogart and I haven't seen Casablanca in years."

Then he clicked on the TV, flipping up through the local channels until the familiar nightclub appeared on the screen. His grip on her hand tightened as he dropped the remote down on the bed, and settled back in the chair again.

Though he was oblivious, for a few seconds Emily just stared at Aaron, rather than the movie. He was so handsome, he really was way better to look at. But then suddenly he seemed to sense her eyes on him and he turned to look her way.

"You okay?" He asked with a faintly worried eyebrow.

Not wanting him to worry, she quickly nodded,

"Yep, I'm fine," her eyes crinkled slightly, "just thinking."

"Okay," his lip quirked up, "as long as you're sure."

Then he leaned over to fix her blanket, before shifting back in his seat again. And when he saw that she was still looking at him . . . he winked.

Feeling a blush touch her cheeks, she gave him a shy smile before shifting her attention up to the television. He was still holding her hand.

_It was a perfect way to spend the afternoon._

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: No notes, too tired. Just the chapter title is the name of a song. It's very sweet. And thanks everyone for reading :)_


	12. Worst Laid Plans

**Author's Note**: I'm back. Life's been busy, and I was on vacation, yada yada. But I've been tappa, tappa tappa'ing, away so there are drafts lined up in most of the stories you folks ask me about :)

For this story, we're picking up still on Sunday, but later in the afternoon.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Worst Laid Plans<strong>

Aaron arrived back at his apartment a little before six pm. Though his hope had been to get home before Haley, after Casablanca had ended, he'd gotten caught up talking to Emily. First it was about the movie, then what had happened at the bank. And then, to kind of lighten the mood again . . . Emily had gotten a bit teary walking back through the trauma of the attack . . . they sort of segued into talking about new movies coming out, and old books they both liked, and current politics neither had much interest in.

Basically they just kind of bounced around from one topic to the next. That was until he noticed that Emily was trying to hide her yawns from him. Then he realized that the dark circles under her eyes, circles which had been pretty much omnipresent all week, were darker than usual.

She was exhausted.

And that was his fault for not paying attention to the clock. But he'd just gotten completely caught up in their conversation. Because talking to Emily had, he'd realized on his way home, somehow become his favorite new past time.

Really it was simply listening to the way her mind worked.

Her brain was just so different than anyone else's that he'd ever known. She was clever and kind and sensitive, and she really did make him laugh. Her last words to him before he'd left, had of course been a joke. One about her currently limited options for new haircuts. She was thinking Mohawk.

It was the only thing that worked with the side scar.

So twenty minutes after he'd left her in the hospital, when he walked through his front door, he was still feeling pretty good about the day that he'd had. At least he was until he stepped into the living room.

That was when he saw his wife.

She was sitting on the couch, still dressed in the clothes that she'd been wearing when she left for sightseeing that morning. The TV was off, and there were no books or magazines around. It was just her sitting there, with her arms crossed, staring up at him. And seeing her like that caused a little tickle to run along his spine.

He had a feeling that the shit was about to hit the fan.

And then she spoke.

"Where did you go today?"

Her words were soft . . . and deceptively neutral in tone. Though it _was_ just a simple, straight forward question that she was asking him. One which he knew that he should respond to in kind.

With a simple, straight forward answer.

Because it was definitely time (or perhaps past time) to tell his wife about Emily. The nice girl from the line at the bank, who was now his nice new platonic friend in the hospital.

But for some reason he didn't give Haley that simple, straight forward answer. Instead he found himself lying to her again.

And he wasn't quite sure why.

But after a millisecond's pause, he tipped his head slightly . . . and the words just slithered right out of his mouth.

"I was at work," he answered matter of factly while walking back over to hang his keys on the hook by the door, "just like where I said I was going this morning."

"Really?" Haley's eyebrow quirked up . . . dangerously so. "That's odd, because the family and I stopped into your office at twelve to see if you wanted to have lunch with us. And the security guard called your desk, and you didn't answer," she took a breath, "but I was _so_ sure that you were there, because you _said,_" her jaw clenched, "that you would be there, that he even let me walk up with him to see if maybe you were working in a conference room or something . . . but you weren't," she shook her head slightly, "you weren't anywhere on the floor. And when we went back down to the lobby, that's when I realized that you had never even signed in at the security desk. You didn't go to work today, Aaron. So I ask again," her voice began to tighten, "where _did_ you go?"

Though Aaron was admittedly SHOCKED to discover that Haley had actually stopped by his OFFICE(!), he made damn sure not to let on to that fact. Really, the whole time that she'd been speaking, he'd kept his expression completely blank.

It wasn't difficult at all.

Because the ONE benefit of suffering so many years of emotional and physical abuse throughout his childhood, was that as a result, he'd trained himself to mask his real emotions completely.

As both an attorney and a husband, it was a skill that came in handy on pretty much a daily basis.

And he could see from the set of Haley's jaw, and the clenching of her fists, that his wife was about as upset at that moment, as he'd seen her in quite some time. So clearly Stone Face was the way to go for him. But for a second though, he honestly wasn't quite sure how to verbally respond. Again, _of_ _course_, the most obvious response was to simply lay all of his cards on the table.

To tell her everything.

Because it wasn't like him to be so deceitful with her, and his recent behavior in that respect, had truly been an anomaly for their relationship to date. But now that the moment had come where Haley was calling him out on his bullshit, he found himself not feeling a wave of remorse and guilt over his actions of late, but instead there was a different emotional response swirling up.

Panic.

Pure, unadulterated, panic. Not about Haley now realizing that he'd been lying to her. No, not that.

No, the panic was about the _consequences_ of telling her the truth now.

Because after keeping Emily's existence a secret for as long as he had, his wife would definitely be angry . . . and very likely, suspicious . . . about their undisclosed friendship. So she would find it very difficult to believe, as would most people admittedly, that he'd spent ninety minutes in a bank with a woman and somehow from that relatively small sliver of time, had managed to forge what was starting to feel like a permanent relationship.

_Friendship_, his conscience corrected back, _it was just a friendship_.

Right well . . . he scrubbed his hand across his mouth . . . whatever the label, their connection was strong. So strong in fact that he'd been visiting Emily in the hospital every day since she was admitted, no longer out of any sense of obligation, (his initial reasoning, to be kind and go see her because she'd asked him to) but now for another reason.

Simply because it made him happy to do so.

And his wife was most definitely NOT going to appreciate hearing about ANY these new feelings or connections he was having! Not only would she demand that he cut off the daily visits, but she'd likely insist that he not have any contact with Emily again, period.

And that just wasn't going to happen.

Because the thought of cutting Emily out of his life, was what had triggered this flood of blind panic. And yes, that was a rather visceral emotional reaction to severing such a (superficially) recent, addition to his life. But Emily didn't feel like a recent addition. And on some level he knew that this panicked response at the thought of removing her from his life, needed to be examined a bit more closely to figure out just what was going on there. But he'd get to that later. For now, for this moment, it was just about dealing with Haley.

And misdirection seemed to be his only way to go.

So after completing a very deliberate five count delay, instead of fixing this ripple that he was creating in a marriage that . . . prior to this last week he would have said was running steady and stable . . . he hurled another rock into the pond.

And he hurled it as hard as he could.

"There seems to be a bit of a tone there, Haley," he responded tightly while letting his eyebrow inch up, "are you accusing me of something?"

Of course she was accusing him of something. She was accusing him of lying to her. And of course he was _actually_ lying to her! But this was the only defense he had.

A full on offense.

If he could make her angry enough to simply be pissed at him for being a complete jackass, then she'd (hopefully), lose the thread of her original beef.

His whereabouts for that day.

And no, he was definitely not going to be writing any husbandly advice columns for Dear Abby with this approach here, but all he was trying to do was get through this evening.

Tomorrow, he'd figure out a longer term, less 'psychotic,' approach to the problem.

But all that mattered was right now. And right now he could see that his response had definitely landed as he'd hoped . . . like a bomb. Haley's fists were clenching, and her teeth were grinding. She was about to explode.

Perfect.

"Actually, _Aaron_," Haley spit back furiously, "what I was _TRYING_ to do is NOT accuse you of anything! I was TRYING to let you explain to me why it was that you told me that you were doing ONE thing today, when you were quite CLEARLY doing something else! And the fact that you are CONTINUING to not tell me where you've been for the last TEN HOURS, is perplexing to say the least!"

Every single word that she'd just spoken, had been punctuated by a jab of her finger or the quiver of her jaw. And Aaron knew that his ridiculously 'bad husband' approach here, was definitely working. Now she was just getting furious, because he was being an asshole.

So he added just a dash more gasoline to the fire.

"Really," he responded with a calculated flatness while staring down at the rug . . . he was deliberately countering her rage with ice, "do you know what _I_ find perplexing? That my wife of six years would feel that she was suddenly entitled to grill me about my whereabouts like I was a child." His eyes snapped back up to hers, "who exactly do you think you're talking to?"

And that was it. That was the one.

Ka - boom.

She started screaming. Asshole, bastard, son of a bitch. Basically calling him every name that you could not say on television . . . and then some. And he just let it go. He let her rage spill over, and made absolutely no effort at all to mollify her.

Which just made her even angrier.

But it was one fight out of a million that they'd have over the course of a normal lifetime. That's what he told himself. It just one stupid fight.

It was no big deal.

Okay . . . he started to feel a tickle of unease . . . yeah, that wasn't quite true. It was actually a bit of a deal. He was lying to his wife about his whereabouts, and then picking asinine fights with her just to keep her from finding out the lie to start. And that was all to protect the MAIN lie, that he had a young, new, 'girl friend.'

His teeth sunk into his lip as he tuned out the current string of profanity coming from his wife's mouth.

Because yeah, that's what Emily was. Just by simple definition.

A girl, _dash_, friend.

There was definitely a space between the girl and the friend, but still. And regardless of how platonically he'd interpret his interactions with this new girl-friend, everything he'd been doing, and saying, to hide her existence from his wife, was bad. Very, VERY bad!

And tonight was definitely the worst of it.

And so when Haley finally stormed out of the room with a final, "FUCK YOU AARON!" while whipping a box of tissues at his head . . . it was the only thing handy to throw besides the one nice vase they owned . . . he walked over and dropped down onto the couch.

Far down the hall he could hear the pounding footsteps disappear . . . and then his bedroom door slam shut. A second after that . . . because they lived with cardboard walls . . . he heard his wife sobbing.

He scrubbed his hand across his mouth.

Ah Christ . . . he dropped his head into his hands . . . what the hell had he done?

*/*/*/*/*

Monday morning Aaron woke up on the living room couch. He had a crick in his neck, and a Charlie horse in his calf. And while he was hopping around, trying to stretch out the cramped muscles, he noticed a stack of clothes lying out on the back of the end chair across the small room.

Apparently that was the clue Haley had dropped to let him know that he still wasn't allowed in the bedroom, even this morning.

Okay. Fair enough. That was just as well, because even after sitting up with a glass of whiskey, thinking until after midnight, he still wasn't quite sure how to straighten this whole mess out. He wanted to continue his friendship with Emily on his own terms, and he wanted to not have to pick a fight with his wife every night to do that.

It was a real clusterfuck.

One that he knew was going to require a LOT more dedicated thought before he worked it out. So he figured that for the moment, for the sake of his stress levels, he should just put it all out of his head. And after quickly digging through the pile of clothes Haley had dumped on the chair, to find a pair of clean boxers and a t-shirt, he headed down to the bathroom to shower and shave.

All in all, he was ready to leave the apartment within twenty minutes. There was still no sign of his wife though. In fact, aside from the stack of clothes she'd left out, and a missing box of Entenmann's donuts from the kitchen counter, there was no other indication that she'd left their room at all since the night before.

It was after he'd picked up his keys from the hook, that he debated for a moment whether or not he should go down and try to say goodbye to her through the closed door.

But then he decided to leave it alone.

If she was upset enough to dump his clothes out in the living room . . . and he was thanking God it was only enough stuff for the one day . . . then that was his sign that she really didn't want to have anything to do with him this morning.

So he headed out with just a granola bar in his pocket, and his briefcase in his hand.

It wasn't until his lunch hour, when he was wandering around the Mall by himself, that he started thinking about his dilemma again. And given his newfound pangs of unease about the potential (long term) damage that he might be doing to his marriage, he was considering maybe skipping his visit to Emily that day. Not really so much because of Haley, but for himself. To just give himself a little distance from Emily so he could think more objectively about his feelings for her.

If they were starting to cause him a problem.

But then he remembered that her parents were both still out of town. So if he didn't visit . . . he bit his lip . . . she'd be all alone. And picturing her lying there waiting for him, and him not showing up, caused a twist of pain in his stomach.

It would hurt her if he stayed away.

And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. So he said screw it. There would be one more visit today, a brief one, where he'd tell her that he was going to have to 'cut back' a little on his time spent at the hospital. That he'd keep going until her parents returned home, but after that he'd probably be cutting back his visits to every other day, instead of every day.

It all seemed very reasonable to him in his mind.

So that night, when he walked through the electronic door onto Emily's hospital wing, he was ALL set, to have this little talk with her. He'd worked it out on the drive over, he would just be honest with her, explain that this visitation adjustment was what he needed to do to keep peace with his wife, and that he hoped that she understood.

He was sure that she would.

Now the fact that he had no hesitation at all about speaking the whole truth to Emily, but couldn't even consider speaking even a sliver of it to Haley, was a point that only fluttered briefly though his brain.

It didn't seem important right then.

Because when he walked into Emily's room late Monday afternoon, with his carefully thought out speech lolling there on the tip of his tongue, he was prepared to say that he could only stay for a minute. But then something else happened instead.

He saw the brilliant grin that Emily was giving him.

The words that he'd planned to say, fell away, and he immediately found his expression softening as his eyes crinkled.

"What is it?" He asked softly.

Because it was clear that it was something.

"Do you want to pretty please take me for a walk?" She asked with a hopeful smile and a vaguely prayer'like gesture.

During the morning rounds, her surgeon had finally cleared her for short walks around the floor. She was so ecstatic that she'd actually clapped in front of the doctor, the charge nurse, and a whole group of residents.

Yes, she'd looked like a complete doofus. And yes, a few of the fledgling doctors gave her a strange look. But she didn't care. She was just SO happy! Clearance for walks meant that she was one step closer to clearance for discharge. And that was ALL that she wanted in the world!

To go home!

But the only problem with the walks was, she needed to have an escort for them. She couldn't go alone. And there weren't enough nurses on shift that day to take her out of her room. And with her parents both still away, that basically left just one person (her ONE other visitor) to beg for a spin around the ICU floor. So that begging, was the first thing that she did to poor Aaron when he walked into her room.

And she could see him staring at her in amusement for a moment, before his lip quirked up.

"Is this an authorized walk," he responded drily while walking over to her bed, "or are you trying to make a break for it? Because keep in mind that IV pole is really going to slow you down getting through the revolving door out front."

"No," she chuckled back, "it's an authorized walk. I'm cleared for once around the floor, provided I have a dedicated escort to stay with me, but," her nose wrinkled, "nobody's been free today to take me. So," she bit her lip, "will you please?"

He shot her a dimple.

"Of course I will."

Yes, all of his plans for a big speech and a little visit, had just gone flying out the window. But he just couldn't say no to that face! And yes, that lack of resistance was also something to ponder at a later date. But not right now.

Not when there were walks to take.

At Aaron's immediate acquiescence, Emily found herself yelling, "YAY!" and clapping as she had that morning. This time though, the result wasn't just an awkward silence from a crowd of students three years her senior, and a loud clearing of his throat by her portly surgeon. This time it was a hearty laugh from the man in front of her.

And it wasn't at her expense.

And she knew that because he then shot her a two dimpled grin as he reached over to catch her hand.

"You know there is never any artifice with you." He said with a soft smile, "it's one of my favorite things about you. No games. You just wear everything right there on your sleeve."

It was such a sweet quality. But one that he could see probably had been the cause of a lot of pain for her. Because the bullies of the world liked to hurt anyone who was different than the rest of the tribe.

And God bless her, Emily was most definitely one of the most unique people that he'd ever met.

Feeling a faint blush touching her cheeks, Emily gave Aaron a soft smile in return.

"I'm not sure if I should say thanks or not," her lip quirked up, "it's kind of an unusual compliment."

He gave her fingers a squeeze.

"It is kind of an unusual quality," he responded with a wink, and she felt the heat on her cheeks intensifying.

_God, the things this man did to her!_

Then he leaned over her to tug the blankets down the bed.

As Emily bare legs came into view, Aaron couldn't help but notice that there was a bit of stubble starting to form on them.

It was funny, he hadn't noticed it the other day. And now it seemed like such a curiously intimate thing to see. And then with Emily's somewhat embarrassingly muttered, "yeah, getting kind of ape'ish down there. Really need to see if my mom can bring me a razor when she gets back," he realized that she had noticed him noticing it. He felt pang of sympathy.

He hated to embarrass her.

So he reached down and pulled up the pant leg of his dress pants.

"These are hairy legs," he grunted, "those," he dropped the fabric in his hand to gesture back to her lower limbs, "are legs designed to stop traffic."

Feeling a spot of warmth spreading out from her chest . . . he was such a sweetie . . . Emily reached over to touch his cheek. She knew that she shouldn't, but it was just an impulse. And for a moment she found herself staring at him, as he stared right back at her. There was something in his eyes, something soft. But then they suddenly crinkled with amusement, and her lip quirked up. And just like that, the moment was over.

Her hand fell down from his cheek and onto her thigh.

"Well," she murmured softly, "I guess we should get this show moving."

So with Aaron's help . . . and with a little careful maneuvering on her part to keep the too short gown from exposing her lady parts . . . Emily shuffled herself over to the edge of the mattress, and swung her stubbly legs over the side.

The bed was so high, that her toes barely brushed against the shiny white floor.

And she was just about to try and shift herself forward the rest of the way, when Aaron patted her arm and told her to hold on while he got her robe.

Her robe in the hospital had been . . . and was today . . . the fuzzy blue one with a hole in the front pocket. Her mother had left it folded over the visitor's chair on the other side of the bed.

And seeing Aaron walk back to her with it hanging over his arm, she smiled.

"You know my mother hates that robe," she murmured, "but she knows it's my favorite, so it's the one that she brought me."

Though she and her mother had their issues . . . boy did they ever . . . every once in a while she'd do something like this, bring her the ratty old bathrobe that she railed about LITERALLY every time she saw Emily wearing it, and Emily would be reminded . . . her mother really did love her.

You just had to look for the little things that proved it.

"Well," Aaron's eyes crinkled slightly as he put the robe down on the bed and picked up the call button instead, "it feels soft."

"It is," Emily nodded while reaching over to brush her fingertips over the material, "I've had it forever. My dad bought it for me."

Then she looked up at him with a smile.

"Do you have anything special that you keep because it came from one of your parents?"

"Uh," Aaron's expression shifted as his gaze flickered down to the floor, "nothing that I can recall. My uh," he cleared his throat, "my dad died when I was young."

"Oh," Emily's expression twisted as she reached out press her hand against his chest, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"No, no," his gaze snapped back up to hers, "it's okay, I know you didn't know, and," he shrugged, "now you do."

She shook her head.

"You know it's strange, even though I have whole swaths of my own formative years that I don't like to discuss, I still somehow end up stumbling into other people's," she huffed humorlessly, "I have a knack for being awkward."

Aaron's expression softened.

"What I think you have a knack for," he responded quietly, "is basic empathy. Some people plow on through other people's pain because they're uncomfortable with it. But you saw mine, and stopped and you recognized it, and you expressed sympathy for it," he shook his head, "that's not awkward. That's kindness."

Feeling a faint sting to her eyes, Emily was just about to respond when she heard a knock on the open door. Her head and Aaron's both snapped around to see Nurse Nancy swirling through the doorway.

"What's up folks?"

"Uh," Aaron gestured down to Emily, "I was going to take her for a little walk," his brow inched up, "if that's still okay?"

"Oh," she gave a nod while hurrying over, "yeah, yeah, of course. Let me just get her ready."

It took just a minute for Nancy to unhook Emily's IV, help her on with her robe, and hook her back up again. Then she put a pair of 'No Slip' Slippers on Emily's feet and helped her off the bed.

After she'd stepped back to make sure the patient was straight and steady . . . yes, at least while she was holding onto the IV pole . . . she turned to look at Aaron.

"No more than one loop around the floor today. If she does all right, then tomorrow she can go for two. And if she starts to get tired," she pointed her finger at him, "you bring her right back here, understood?"

Aaron stepped forward to slide Emily's arm through his.

"Yes ma'am," he nodded to the nurse, "understood."

Then he waited a second for Nancy to clear out, before he looked down at Emily.

"Ready?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. And she took a deep breath before nodding.

"Yep. One small step, yada yada."

And with that they started slowly across the small room . . . and out the door.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: So obviously Aaron didn't just pick a small, relatively inconsequential, fight, he's causing a rift in his marriage. And he's just going to make that worse. But, he panicked, and that's what happens. You make stupid decisions. But he was also right, if he'd been honest, Haley would have insisted he cut off the relationship. If you'll recall, that was why he had decided at the bank that he could never be friends with Emily, that Haley wouldn't stand for it. And now he's got himself sucked further into this relationship with this woman he's unconsciously falling for, and he's just flying blind with his wife._

_There is more to their evening. Much of it is written, but I cut it here to get something up. Thanks!_


	13. Two Steps Back

**Author's Note**: FYI, on a personal note. Anybody who has followed me for a while, knows that my nephews were shot last year. Well, the trial of the shooter FINALLY started today, and is expected to go to jury by mid-day tomorrow. We are cautiously optimistic that this person will be convicted and hopefully going away for some time. There is NO dispute about whether or not he did this horrific thing, and he actually turned himself in that same night, but you know, sometimes juries fuck up. So if people could please just keep a good thought for a smart, just, group of people to do the right thing and ship his ass off to jail for many years, that would be very much appreciated. Thanks :)

Otherwise, for fake life, direct continuation of the scene.

* * *

><p><strong>Author Prompts Set #43 (June 2014)<strong>

Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Title Challenge: In Too Deep

* * *

><p><span><strong>Two Steps Back<strong>

After they stepped through the doorway of her room, Emily paused to look both ways down the open hospital corridor.

"I haven't really seen the floor since I've been lucid," she said softly.

During the first few days after the surgery, she'd been rolled out a few times to go down for tests, but at that point she'd still been pretty doped up and groggy. So seeing the floor now, with her brain much clearer than before, it was like looking at it through a whole new lens. She winced at the glaring lights.

A really bright one.

"Well," Aaron looked down at her, "there isn't really much to see. The unit is a horseshoe shape with a break room, a couple supply rooms, and the nurse's desk on the curve. Beyond that, there are twelve patient rooms, and since you got here, a few people have come and gone, but there have always been a couple empties. I noticed today though that all the rooms are filled up now." His nose wrinkled as his voice dropped down further. "It's all one family. There was a car accident last night. I heard the relatives talking on the elevator. One of the children died at the scene, and the parents and an older sibling are here on the floor."

It was strange, he'd actually seen the story on the news and thought, as one always does, 'Jesus that poor family.' But of course at the time he'd had no idea that he'd end up having such personal proximity with the victims.

The world was depressingly small at times.

"Oh," Emily bit her lip, "that's so sad." Then she looked back and forth, "which direction are they?"

"Uh," he made a subtle gesture down towards the nurse's desk, "down there, in the corner."

The patients placed right by the desk, seemed to be the ones in the worst shape. Which in Aaron's layman opinion, had boded well for Emily's prognosis from Day One. Because she'd always been in a room a little further down the hall. They had to have had good hopes for her.

But then he saw the object of his musings looking up at him now . . . she was biting her lip.

"Okay, um, then maybe we could start in the other direction?" She tipped her head slightly, "I just don't know if I'm up for other people's tragedy right this second."

Aaron nodded.

"Sure, whatever you want," he soothed with a light pat of her arm, "but just keep in mind," he sighed as his gaze shifted down the corridor, and then back to hers, "there are no happy stories on this floor right now. I think you're probably in the best shape of anyone here. And I'm pretty sure that's been the case since you arrived."

Catching even a glimpse of what was happening in the other rooms, really was a depressing sight. So many nearly lifeless bodies, being kept alive only with the help of the machines surrounding them. And with the exception of maybe one other woman . . . girl really, she looked a bit younger than Emily, who wasn't that old herself . . . most everyone else seemed to be in a coma. Whether some were medically induced or not, it didn't make it any better.

These people were in terrible shape.

His gaze shifted down to the woman at his side . . . except for Emily that is. As they began walking, he recalled that the day before, one of the nurses, had been coming off shift when he was leaving. On the walk down to the elevator she'd told him that for the last week, "his wife," had been the one bright spot on the ward. He bit his lip.

Oddly enough, he felt the same way about her.

Not that he'd been 'unhappy' with his life before Emily had come into it. He had a good job and a nice wife. Okay, he backtracked in his head, that sounded a bit unkind. Haley wasn't just 'nice,' he loved her. Truly. Of course their marriage had experienced a few stumbling blocks, but all marriages did. But the two of them had gotten married very young. And like all couples in their twenties, they had regular money issues and some disagreements about career choices and, "family planning," as it was called these days.

And perhaps a few of those issues they should have talked about more before they'd gotten married. Like Haley's decision to spend sixty grand on a bachelor's degree, and then decide she didn't want to work. Or the fact that he REALLY didn't want to have ANY children at all. Ever.

Haley still couldn't believe that one.

She was convinced that eventually he'd change his mind. That he was just resistant to the idea of kids right now because they had the small apartment and so little extra money.

But she was wrong.

With his family history, he had no desire to see his gene pool continued. For now though, he was just letting Haley believe what she wanted to believe. Eventually she'd get that he was serious. And if she didn't, well, they'd just have to have another conversation.

But overall, as he walked down the corridor thinking about his marriage, he knew it was a happy one. Most of the time anyway. But still, Emily's unexpected arrival in his life had added something that he hadn't realized had been missing from it. And it wasn't anything tangible that he could point to and say, "there, that was it. Right there. _This_ was what I needed, and this is what I get from her." Because it wasn't as simple as that. It was more a feeling than anything else.

One that he couldn't quite pin down.

Eh . . . he shook his head slightly to himself . . . who knew. Whatever it was, it was the reason he was there in that hospital, escorting Emily down that corridor, when he should have already finished his visit and had been on his way out to his car.

But considering that he _was_ there with her, he reminded himself, he really should be giving their current activity (walking) a bit more of his mental focus. Because at the moment he was solely responsible for her physical safety.

And the last thing he wanted was her literally falling down, on his watch.

Though as he took in an assessment of her movements for the last half a minute or so, he realized that she seemed to be doing pretty well moving along without too much assistance from him. Though he was holding her arm . . . in a semi-vice grip, again, she was NOT falling on his watch . . . she was mostly holding up her own weight.

Or if she wasn't, she was at least doing well balancing it against the IV pole.

And seeing that they were about to reach the staff break room, he realized it was about time for them to make the turn the other way.

This side of the horseshoe only went so far.

But then suddenly Aaron felt Emily's weight pressing heavily against his arm.

"You okay?" He asked worriedly. And she mumbled back that her leg felt a little "rubbery." A term which caused his brow to crease with concern even while he tightened his grip on her.

"Should I get a wheelchair?"

That question was simultaneous with his eyes bouncing around the hall to actually FIND a damn wheelchair if one was needed.

"No, no," Emily quickly shook her head at Aaron's suggestion, "I don't need that. It's just uh," she winced slightly as she shook her left leg, "well, this leg just suddenly felt kind of weak. But I think I can walk it off. It's probably just the muscles being twitchy from disuse, right?"

_Dear God she hoped so!_

"Well," Aaron reluctantly tipped his head, "maybe, but you promise me that you'll say something immediately if it gets any worse."

"I promise," she sighed, "trust me, I don't want to fall down. If I do, I'll never get out of here."

So they continued on with the walk . . . though now a bit more slowly than when they'd started. And once they'd passed her room going the other way, Emily's steps began to drag even more than they had been. So much so, that it became difficult for Aaron to keep pace with her. It was like a wedding march with a step, pause, step. And not wanting to embarrass her further by pointing out the lag . . . it wasn't like there was anything she could do about it . . . finally he just let go of her elbow and slipped his arm around her waist.

Then he tugged her tightly against his side.

When she started to protest . . . somewhat breathlessly . . . that she was fine, he just shot her a look.

His eyes widened when he saw that there was visible perspiration on her forehead.

"You are not fine. And you are breaking your promise to me. Because we both know that you're about three paces away from going splat down on that pretty face of yours." He shook his head, "and I don't care how many of the king's horses and men you call up, they aren't going to be able to knit that broken skull back together, _again_."

Feeling her mouth start to quiver, Emily reached over to squeeze the hand that was resting on her hip.

She caught two of Aaron's fingers.

"You know you really do have a way of cutting through the bullshit," she chuckled softly. He smiled back.

"Ditto. Now," he tipped his head, "come on. Back to bed with you, Miss Emily."

"Hmph," she snorted slightly as he turned them around, to begin guiding her back along the way they'd come, "nobody's called me that since I was like six. My grandma's friends down in Mobile always called me, Little Miss Emily."

"That's funny," he huffed back, "because I was always, 'Mr. Aaron,' when I visited _my_ grandparents down in Charleston."

"Huh," she rasped back, "must be generational."

"Perhaps," he responded with a pat to her hip, "but I think that's enough talking for you for now. You're a little too winded for walking and talking. And knowing you," he continued drily, "you're probably about to make some comment back just to prove that you're NOT too winded for walking and talking. And if you do that, I'm going to pick you up and carry you back to your room. And given that's going to immediately cause a small 'panic' among the nurses, I'm pretty sure you don't want that happening."

A small glance down to his right, confirmed for Aaron that Emily did INDEED wish to avoid that small panic. Because she was giving him a contrite pout and a mouthed, 'I'll be quiet," which he rewarded with a half a dimple.

"Wise choice my friend."

And with that they continued on in silence. It took a few minutes to make the relatively short trip back down the hall, but eventually they did get arrive at Emily's door. Once there, Aaron helped her over to the bed, and sat her down on the mattress.

That's when he once more noticed that she was perspiring, and though she'd kept her mouth shut for the last few minutes of the walk, she still seemed a bit out of breath. Though under other circumstances that would cause him some concern, here he was figuring that the walk had been a bit of an exertion for her. After all recovering from major surgery, and almost a full week without any exercise at all, it seemed logical that a short walk would have taken some genuine effort out of her.

But even if he wasn't personally worried, he was still thinking it would be a good idea to mention the sweating to the nurses. At least so they could make a note of it on the chart. And then he remembered that he needed to call them anyway to get the IV adjusted. He was about to press the call button, when Emily brushed her fingers over his hand.

"No," she shook her head, "it's okay. You don't have to call them. I'm going to keep my robe on for now," she shivered, "it's freezing in here."

Now feeling a faint tickle of concern where there hadn't been one before . . . it wasn't cold at all, it was actually a bit stuffy . . . Aaron suddenly took note that Emily's face was a bit flushed.

It could just be from the exertion, or . . . his jaw tightened . . . it could be from something else. But considering her color now, in conjunction with the chills she seemed to have, he reached down to press the back of his hand against her forehead. Then he brushed it along her cheek. The conclusion he came to, made him bite down on his lip.

Shit.

"You know," he murmured softly while letting his hand fall down to the bed, "I think you might actually be running a fever."

"What?" Emily's eyes widened as she reached up to touch her face, "no, you think?"

Oh CRAP! Fever in here meant infection! And she could NOT get an infection with a God damn hole in her skull!

"Well," Aaron shook his head while stooping down to slide off her slippers, "I'm not sure, but you do feel a bit warm, and you do seem to have the chills because," he shook his head firmly, "it is _not_ cold in here."

Noticing then the fear that his words were putting into Emily . . . he was scaring the shit out of her . . . he quickly reached over to squeeze her fingers.

"Shhh, don't worry," he soothed, "I could be wrong. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe you just over exerted yourself. We'll call the nurse and she'll take your temperature and maybe some blood. And if it turns out you do have an infection, it'll still be okay. They'll probably just tweak your antibiotics a bit."

It would be troubling though if she _did_ have an infection when she'd already _been_ on antibiotics all week. Because if she'd still managed to pick something up, it could very well be one of those superbugs that run through hospitals.

And that would be bad.

"But Aaron," Emily's eyes started to water as the panic began to bubble up. "If I got an infection in here that's BAD! Really bad! Because it's probably one of those hospital super bugs!"

Though that was the EXACT thought (and worry) that had just come to him as well, Aaron hid his surprise that Emily had read his mind so freakishly well. Because he couldn't have her going into a panic about this. That would lead to a spiral in her mental state.

A mental state which had been hovering around a very dark place until barely two days ago.

So another dip now, along with an _actual_ setback in her physical condition, would be disastrous for her recovery. He reached out and cupped her cheek with his palm.

The heat there was noticeable.

"Emily Prentiss," he said sternly, "you are a person who just survived a full assault bank robbery, a subdural hematoma, and a major brain surgery, so you're not going to get taken out by some," he pursed his lips distastefully, "_germ_. Now," he brushed his thumb along her cheek, "I want to hear you say that you're going to be just fine.'"

For a second she stared down at him.

"But what if I'm not fine?" she whispered back.

"I just said that you would be," he answered softly, "and that's all there is to it, okay?"

Seeing the tears in her eyes start to pool, Aaron worried that he might be pushing back too hard. But then she blinked and nodded.

"Okay."

And though her voice was soft, and not really all that confident, he didn't make her say it again. Not seeing the one tear sliding down her cheek.

That just made him sad.

So though he had been trying to limit the close physical contact, he needed to do something to make them both feel better. And that's how he found himself leaning up to pull her into a hug.

Or, half a hug.

She was sitting and he was stooped, but the result was the same . . . arms around her body in a comforting fashion. And she did seem to take some comfort from the action, because after a few seconds, he could feel her sucking in a deep breath before nodding against his shoulder.

"Better, thank you."

The words were still faint, but held more strength than her earlier ones. So he pulled back and gave her a little smile.

"Good. So you," he came to his feet to help her shift back on the bed, "get settled in here," he continued talking while pulling the blankets up to her waist, "and we'll call the nurse," he patted her arm, "all right?"

So much for his big plans for a quick visit.

"Yeah," she bit her lip and wiped her cheek, "all right. I'm ready."

And so they called the nurse, and the nurse called the doctor, and the doctor called the surgeon. And by the time the fourth white coat had entered the room . . . the attending virologist . . . Aaron was biting off his thumb nail from his spot in the back of her room.

Though initially he'd been trying to just stay out of the way on the other side of her bed, as the medical personnel began to come and go taking temperatures and blood and unwrapping and rewrapping her bandages to check her wounds . . . not just her big one, but all the little cuts she'd picked up from the flying glass . . . he realized that he was completely in the way. So after giving Emily's shoulder a quick squeeze, he'd jerked his head to indicate he was just shuffling down to the other end of the room. But seeing how scared she looked at the thought of him leaving, he really kind of hated himself for even going that far away.

But better that the doctors get in there and see what was going on.

And what was going on, really didn't seem to be very good. She was definitely running a fever. That was confirmed by both the first nurse that had walked in, Patty, and then the on call doctor, Dr. Chao.

It was over a hundred both times. And that was cause for concern. So Patty had taken a blood sample, and fast tracked it down to the lab. Now they were waiting for the results. And seeing that Emily had a full contingent of doctors surrounding her bed, now checking her reflexes . . . the leg that had gone weak out in the hall, seemed to be a little slow on the reflex tests too . . . Aaron started pacing along his end of the room. And by the time the results came back from the lab confirming that it was indeed what they were all fearing . . . a staph infection . . . he was pretty sure that he'd actually worn a hole in the floor. And Emily did not take the news of the infection well. Especially not when she saw the staff begin quickly rotating out to pull on masks, gowns, and gloves.

She had a panic attack.

And seeing her start to hyperventilate, Aaron tried to rush back down to her side, but Nurse Patty grabbed his arm.

"Clean room from now on," she hissed in his ear, "go ask Jolene to help you gown up."

Though that order admittedly did nothing for his own composure, Aaron didn't have to be told twice. He was just grateful that they weren't ordering him out. Though as he hurried down to the nurse's station, it occurred to him that was probably, again, because they still thought he was the husband.

And that was a lucky break today.

So after Jolene got him washed up, gowned up, masked up, and gloved up, he headed back down to Emily's room. Now there was a big 'infectious disease' sign on the door. His breath caught.

Crap.

Though he knew that he had little to fear for himself, he was in perfect health, seeing that sign . . . seeing in it WRITING . . . he was actually _genuinely_ afraid for Emily.

This was bad news all around.

And when he got back into her room, he immediately cut around the group to get to the other side of her bed. At that point she was bent over still gasping, with Nancy on one side, trying to calm her down, and the doctors at the foot of her bed, discussing treatment protocol in not so hushed tones.

He wanted to tell the whole group of them to get the hell out, because they obviously weren't doing anything to help her composure. But unfortunately it wasn't really his place to be ordering around her doctors. He wasn't her family.

He had no standing at all.

So instead he tried to ignore them as he hurried up to Emily's side. Once there, he stooped down to her to whisper in her ear.

"Okay, I'm back. Now you listen to Nancy, Emily. Slow, deep breaths. In and out. I know it's scary, but _you_ know that all these new precautions are just to make sure you get well."

Seeing that his words were making a difference, he continued whispering his support while gently rubbing his hand up and down her back. At first her breaths were coming in a ragged succession, but then slowly he felt them start to even out.

She was calming down.

And once she appeared to be breathing normally again, his hand stilled on the middle of her back.

"Better," he whispered, and she nodded.

"Uh huh."

So he straightened up, catching her fingers as he did so. It wasn't the same sensation holding her hand through the glove, but he figured it was still contact that she needed. And he could feel her grip tighten when her primary surgeon started walking back over to the other side of the bed.

And then he proceeded to outline their treatment options for the infection. And though it wasn't anything invasive or painful . . . essentially just a stronger dose of antibiotics which may or may not have some moderate side effects . . . even through the glove, Aaron could feel Emily's nails digging into his palm. But he knew that her panic here weren't unfounded. Superbugs were called superbugs for a reason.

They didn't always respond to any treatment at all.

But neither the doctor nor Aaron voiced that point aloud. It was clear that Emily already knew that she was in deep water. So Aaron stayed with her, holding her hand, through the first course of IV antibiotics, and then until she fell asleep.

That was just after seven. The time when where she finally passed out from the sedative the doctor had prescribed for her. And of course in ALL that time . . . almost two hours at the hospital . . . he was so busy keeping Emily distracted, that he'd completely forgotten about Haley.

Again.

And as he checked his watch on the way down in the elevator, he winced. Great. His wife was going to be furious with him.

Again.

Not that she necessarily would have _wanted _to have dinner with him tonight, but even if she hadn't, him not calling to even let her know that he'd be getting home late, was simply going to add more grist to the 'marital discourse, mill. And God help him if she _had_ been planning on 'making up' over dinner! Because now he'd just created a whole new cluster!

And sure enough, it turned out to be Door Number Two.

Because when he finally got back to the apartment at twenty after seven, when he walked into the living room, he found a new stack of clothes tossed over the back of the end chair. This time they came with a note on the coffee table.

_Don't even THINK about knocking!_

His jaw clenched.

Fuck.

*/*/*/*/*/*

The next morning Aaron got up an hour early (five thirty) to run down to the twenty-four hour pharmacy on the corner. There he bought a box of chocolates, and a single red (slightly wilted, but beggars can't be choosers) rose, from the display by the registers. Then he hurried back to the apartment, poked his head into the hall to make sure his wife was still asleep . . . the bedroom door was shut and the bathroom door was open, so, yes . . . before rushing back into the kitchen to make her favorite breakfast. And he was doing all this because he'd decided when he got home the night before, what was done, was done. He'd screwed up. Like three times now.

Maybe four.

Whatever. The count didn't really matter that much, all that mattered now was making it up to her before things got even worse. What had started off as (mostly) unintentional 'insensitivity,' had definitely devolved into him simply being a Class A, jerk. He still wasn't doing it maliciously, and last night he truly had just completely lost track of time for a VERY good reason! But regardless of his good reasons, he couldn't go on treating Haley badly just because he was having a . . . he scrubbed his hand across his face . . . _distraction _outside the house.

And yes, he was going to deal with the distraction too.

For sure . . . but not today. Today the 'distraction' was very sick, and he'd left her scared to death, and still waiting for her parents to get back to the city. And obviously there was NO way that he could suddenly abandon her now that she was going through a new health scare.

He would be a COMPLETE scumbag if he abandoned her now when she needed his support the most.

But he had devised a plan of action! A real one this time. He was going to go into work early every day for the rest of the week. Then he'd do his hospital visit during an extended lunch hour. That way, he could still personally check in on Emily, but he could also return DIRECTLY to his home at the end of each day.

It should work out perfectly until she was on the mend.

And then by next week, God willing, the infection would have cleared up, and she'd hopefully be getting moved to a regular room. And THEN he could have the already planned talk with her about cutting back his visits to only a couple times a week. But that just needed to wait until her life wasn't _actually_ in real imminent danger from that infection.

But he was sure everything would settle down by next week.

And in the meantime . . . Aaron bit down on his lip . . . time to repair whatever damage he might have done to his marriage. So once Haley's coffee had percolated and her omelet was done, he plated everything neatly on his wife's one fancy tray. The rose he placed gently between the coffee and the orange juice. Then he took a breath, sent up a prayer, and picked up the black lacquer tray.

At that point it was almost six-fifteen, and Haley was generally waking up by then. So with a faint shake of his head, he headed out of the kitchen, and down to the door at the end of the hall.

When he got there, he took another breath, and then shifted the tray against his stomach so he could use one hand to knock. He rapped twice.

"Sweetheart," he leaned closer, calling out softly, "I'm coming in, okay?"

It took a second, but then he heard the faint response come back through the door.

"Okay."

And he let out the breath he was holding.

Thank God! And with that, he reached out and turned the knob.

_Showtime._

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: I know some of you have expressed concern that Hotch's good character is not going to survive a triangle such as this :) Trust me, I know, it's a balancing act, and it is a tricky one. But I did include in here a bit of a snapshot on the state of their marriage at this point. So you can see that though superficially things have been going along okay, they do have some major undercurrents that have wiped out many a relationship before. And these aren't out of the blue for just this story, in canon it always seemed a little unusual that Haley didn't appear to work when the show started. Yes, there are certainly still women who choose to stay home for various reasons, but none of those reasons were apparent with her. They didn't have any kids then. And it's not like they were filthy rich. He would have had a very comfortable salary as chief, but for their generation, it was notable that she didn't seem to have a career of her own, though they went to college together. So I built that in here as a 'chafing point,' for them in their early marriage days because I think it would have been if she wasn't working back then and that hadn't been his understanding of her plans, when they first got together. Money was tight, old cars, student loans, saving for a house, and he's carrying the full financial load. _

_And also the kids thing. It was also kind of odd in canon that they would have been married all that time, with her again, apparently not working, and still waited to have kids until they were pushing 40. So I feel strongly from canon and my writer's interpretation, that was Hotch not wanting to bring children into the ugly world that he lived in. But they did end up having Jack, and I think that was her wearing him down. And again, obviously differences on procreating or not can be a HUGE deal breaker in a relationship. And these points are highlighted here to show that he, totally out of character in his idyllic happy marriage, is becoming 'bewitched' by Emily. He is drawn to her for reasons he doesn't understand, but she would not be the primary reason his marriage fell apart. There are a whole bunch of reasons that his marriage can fall apart! And as with Girl proper, even at this age, you can see that just having the experience of being married, Aaron approaches his interactions with Emily, the openness in their discussions, in a totally different way, BECAUSE he's learned his lessons (unconsciously or not) about things that shouldn't be left unsaid._

_So hopefully that will 'assuage' some fears on this point. And I've already written the big 'twist' scene to kick the story in the next direction after Emily's out of the hospital, and I promise, Emily will not be a homewrecking floozy, Hotch will not be a brandy swilling cad, and Haley will not be a poor put upon 50s housewife :) Everybody will play their part in what happens, but I doubt very much that it will be anything that any of you readers is expecting will happen. A very specific series of events will take place, and you'll all just have to wait and see where the music stops ;)_

_Otherwise, thanks everyone for the feedback! Please keep it coming :)_


	14. Absence, And The Things It Does To An Ac

**Author's Note**: It's HUGE! And the final draft inflamed my tendonitis so badly that I had to completely drug myself up to finish this thing, so, you're welcome!

Now we're getting good and messy. Shippers ahoy!

Picking up same day as we left.

* * *

><p><strong>Author Prompt Set #47 (October 2014)<strong>

Author: Cindi Madsen

Title Challenge: Act Like You Love Me

* * *

><p><span><strong>Absence, And The Things It Does To An Aching Heart<strong>

When Aaron got to work that morning, he closed his door, took a business card from his wallet, and walked back to his desk. There, he picked up the receiver, and dialed the same number that he had that first day in the hospital.

Emily's father.

Though this time he used his own copy of the CIA issued business card. Mr. Prentiss had given it to him the evening they'd met in Emily's hospital room. He'd told him then to call if he ever needed anything, because for taking care of his daughter the way that he had, he'd earned a lifetime of favors.

But Aaron wasn't looking to cash in any favors.

Certainly not right now.

No, as the phone rang in his ear, he was biting his lip, thinking about the fact that he once again was calling to give this man bad news. But he felt that it was news he'd want to know about.

He certainly would if it was his daughter.

And when finally he heard the line pick up, and the expected, terse, "hello," on the other end of it, this time he recognized the voice. And this time he just identified himself with a few simple words.

"It's Aaron. Have you heard?"

This had been his thought on the way to work . . . had anybody at the hospital called Emily's parents to tell them about the change in her condition? And then he realized, probably not, because they thought that HE was the husband! And why would they call _another_ member of her 'family' if the primary next of kin had already been notified?

Exactly.

A supposition which was confirmed for him, by the lengthy silence coming through the phone. And then her father came back faintly.

"What happened?"

"She's got a staph infection," Aaron swallowed, "it's not good. They put her in a clean room last night. They also changed her antibiotics, and gave her something for the fever so it's being handled, but uh, well," he tapped his fingers down on the desk, "I figured you'd obviously still want to know."

Though it was considerably less awkward speaking to Mr. Prentiss on this day, than it had been on that first one, still, it was rather strange being the primary source of medical information for the man's child.

He felt like a de facto son-in-law.

"Yes," Richard nodded, "of course, I'm glad you called son. Thank you." Then he bit down a sigh as he thought about the contact he had to meet that afternoon . . . it wasn't an appointment that could be missed.

Or even delayed.

"I still don't know if I'll be able to get home before Wednesday," Richard continued with a slight clenching of his jaw, "but please tell Emily that I love her and I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll try to call her later but I've got a flight to catch."

"I understand sir," Aaron nodded, "and of course I'll pass along your message. And also, I don't have your wife's number, but I do have Makepeace's. He'll be able to reach her, right?"

Though he'd expected Emily's mother to have returned from New York by now, Emily had told him last night that she had stayed on to have a few face to face conferences with parties not usually in the country. When she'd said that, he'd tried to hide his shock at such a choice. That her mother would continue to work out of state, rather than come back to spend time with her daughter all alone in the ICU. This was a very peculiar life these people lived.

He didn't envy it.

It was then that he focused back in on what Emily's father was saying. That Makepeace was with his wife, that he almost always was when she traveled, but not to worry, that he'd call her. Aaron didn't have to.

"Great," Aaron sighed with relief, "I figured you probably would but I didn't want to assume in case you thought I already did, so," he took a breath, "I guess maybe I'll see you in a few days."

"Yes," Richard nodded, "by the end of the week for sure. It's just a delicate time right now, but you know, I'm very glad that you and my daughter ran into each other."

Even though he wouldn't have, under ANY other circumstances, thought it was wise, or appropriate, for his daughter to develop a close friendship with a married man, for some reason it didn't concern him so much here. Because it wasn't as though Aaron had tried to deceive any of them about his marital status, or his intentions. And Emily was obviously very fond of him.

As he clearly was of her as well.

It was actually unfortunate that they hadn't met back when Aaron was also single. Emily deserved to have a nice boy like that looking after her. And Richard supposed that on some level, she did have that from him now, but Richard also knew that a friendship like theirs was likely to lead to complications.

Even heartbreak.

And he didn't want that for her. Though as he heard Aaron's faint huff, right before he sighed, "yeah, I'm very glad we ran into each other too," he realized that if his suppositions about their future were correct, that the heartbreak would not be one sided. When he got back home, that was something perhaps he might need to discuss with the boy then. But for now he still had that plane to catch. And Paris to Kiev was not an hourly flight. So he simply gave his goodbye . . . and ended the call.

Time to get moving.

For a second Aaron looked down at the phone buzzing in his hand . . . apparently they were done.

Okay.

After he'd placed the handset back on the base, his gaze shifted over the stacks of files piled up around his desk.

Too many.

And too many things to get done just that day. Of course last night he'd had his big plan to get in early, but that hadn't happened. As it was, he'd arrived about three minutes to nine.

The call to Emily's father had taken about four minutes, so now it was one minute past, and he was just at that moment, turning on his computer. It was not how he'd wanted his work day to go.

But of course the make-up with Haley had not gone as planned either.

She'd done a lot of crying, he'd done a lot of apologizing. Well, okay, he'd expected _those_ things to happen, but the rest of it had kind of gone off the rails. Though he had finally at least mentioned to his wife that there was a "female friend" in the picture, and that was who he'd ended up seeing that Sunday when he'd said he was going into the office, Emily's name still hadn't come up. Because well, he ended up sort of . . . lying.

Again.

Yes, that was BAD! And that moment was exactly where the make-up had gone off the rails. It wasn't _entirely _his fault though. Okay, it was, but it wasn't! Because he'd _wanted _to be truthful and clear the air completely. That had been his intention. So he'd entered that bedroom with the thought of starting out by testing the waters with the phrase "female friend," as a way of attempting to explain Emily's existence now as a presence in his life. But when he'd seen how badly his wife had responded to him just using that phrase, he'd immediately backpedaled.

Because it was like this 'whoosh' of rage had blown over her whole demeanor.

It was an immediate transformation. The watery eyes were still there, but she'd stopped crying like a switch had turned off. Then her brow had darkened, her mouth had tightened, her posture had gone rigid, and there was heavy frost on the tone when she'd asked exactly who this "female friend" was. And he'd known in that moment, there was no way he could tell her about Emily. Not then.

Not in that conversation.

Because in the state that Haley was in, she would have said something about her. Something . . . his jaw twitched as he thought back to the look on her face . . . cruel. And he wasn't going to have Emily called a whore, or a tramp or anything else so vile, when she'd done absolutely nothing wrong. So he'd aborted the plan to tell his wife the truth, and just went with the easiest of lies.

One that was also true.

But one that he had not told Haley before.

That he'd met an old friend from law school, Tobey Liebowitz. That she'd been in town for business, and had asked him if he'd like to get lunch that day. They'd gotten to talking, and he'd lost track of time. And that he had lied about his plans that day and said he was going into the office, because he didn't think Haley would be pleased that he had blown off the visit with her family, to spend time with a college friend, especially a woman.

And his supposition on _that_ point, was dead on!

Because even as he'd been talking, he'd seen his wife's brain whirling . . . the tears had now completely dried up. And then he'd stopped, and she'd put her finger up, and without a word, walked out of the room. When she came back two minutes later, it was clear where she'd gone.

To his home office.

Because in her hand, she had a picture of his law school graduating class. He could see her index finger running along the lines of names, and then matching them up with the lines of faces. Finally she stopped moving her finger and walked over to him.

She held the book out.

"This one, right?" She'd asked quietly, and he'd looked, and nodded.

"Yes, that's her."

A five foot, two inch, lapsed, Hasidic Jew from Brooklyn. Tobey had pale skin, delicate features, long thick black hair, and sparkling blue eyes. She was unequivocally, and without a word of debate from any breathing hominid on the planet, absolutely GORGEOUS! And brilliant. With a great sense of humor, and a lovely personality. She was also, to the chagrin of most of the men (and a few of the women) in their law class, happily married. She had been then, and she was now.

Though now she also had two kids and lived in Chicago, working out of the USAO field office.

And he knew about these recent career and family updates to her life because he'd run into her at a law enforcement conference in Austin the year before. The two of them had indeed caught a meal on that trip, and they had indeed, lost track of time talking.

He'd actually ended up taking a later flight home that night because of it.

Which was why it was the first, most plausible lie, on the tip of his tongue. Because again, it wasn't really a lie at all.

It was simply information shared on a delay.

And the reason it had been delayed, had not been oversight. It had been quite deliberate on his part. Because Haley had met Tobey once at a study session Aaron had held in their apartment just prior to winter finals. And his wife had been noticeably jealous of this gorgeous woman at the time, even though Tobey was simply a classmate who had a GPA one hundredths of a point higher than his. Hence him picking her for a study partner.

She had the 4.0 that he wanted.

That was it.

Yes, she was gorgeous, but that was simply a superficial descriptive element. Because not to put too fine a point on it, but he was pretty good looking himself. He'd been blessed with his dad's dimples and his mother's cheekbones. And once he'd hit sixteen and had finally achieved the 'confidence' to actually speak to ANY girls at all, let alone the really pretty ones, he'd done just fine for himself in that department. And then a few years later, he met Haley.

The pretty girl he wanted to settle down with.

So he did. And though he had of course 'looked' at a few other pretty faces (and nice asses) from time to time, he took his marriage vows quite seriously. If he'd wanted to cheat on his wife with a hot co-ed, he could have done that at any point in their marriage at that date. Or even today's date.

Which was why he'd been particularly annoyed by Haley's reaction to his acquaintanceship with Tobey.

First she'd been rude to her in the apartment. Then it had taken a full two weeks before she'd stopped 'casually' inquiring about Tobey's whereabouts and how he had spent all day, every day, when he was out of the apartment. That was the point, at the age of twenty-four, where he'd realized that his wife had a serious jealous streak. And not the 'normal' kind (and a certain amount of jealousy was normal) where there was a slight blustering and ruffling of feathers before the whole thing was joked away because these were two people in a happy, _secure_, loving, relationship.

No, that wasn't the kind of jealousy Haley had.

Hers was more the 'lingering suspicion, 'God is she STILL talking about that woman who spoke to me at that dinner party three weeks ago(!),' kind. It had not been a pleasant discovery to make about the woman he had pledged to spend the rest of his life with.

Which was why he hadn't mentioned running into Tobey again last year, and why he hadn't mentioned Emily at all.

It just wasn't worth the month long hassle he knew would be coming.

And of course, as he'd rightly suspected, Haley did indeed hit the roof when she found out about the lunch with Tobey. And as he'd stood there, listening to her rant and rave on and on about how was it SO much to ask that he spend a few days every couple months with her family, and how dare he blow off their plans for 'that woman,' he started to see just how truly unflattering this part of her personality really was.

Yes, on a base level he did acknowledge, and own, that him continuing to keep his friendship with Emily a secret was not his finest hour either. But he still felt that Haley came off much worse than he did in that whole exchange. Because the 'Sunday plans' that he had relayed to her, had indeed happened EXACTLY as he'd outlined them.

They just happened on a different day.

Absolutely nothing had happened. It had been two 'adults' having a meal, and discussing their lives, before they went their FAR separate ways again. And his wife was on a TEAR like he'd just told her he'd impregnated Princess Diana! And he so badly wanted to tell her to cut the shit, and that she was completely out of line going screaming like a mental patient, about a simple luncheon with an old college friend.

But he didn't.

No, he just bit his tongue and let her go on because he knew with the Emily situation still not disclosed, that he wasn't 'in the right' either. Though at that moment he had been feeling 'less wrong' than his wife was, he also knew that he wasn't wearing any white hats that day either.

But after Haley had finally finished venting, and he'd apologized for "the lie" and "not mentioning the lunch earlier" (his only two actual 'infractions' as related to _Tobey_) she'd calmed down. They weren't back to base, but things were relatively normal. And they'd worked in some quick make-up sex before he left the house, so that was something. It had at least been a stress release.

And God knew he needed one of those.

But the one 'drawback' there (if you could use that word in conjunction with an activity resulting in orgasm) was that he hadn't gotten out the door as early as he'd intended. Hence his office arrival at eight-fifty seven a.m., so basically he'd screwed up ALL of the Emily Plans he'd made the night before.

And the _main_ plan from the night before, had been to make his visit to the hospital at noon.

But because he only got to work 'on time,' when noon rolled around, he still hadn't finished up the brief on the new embezzlement case, that was due to his chief by two.

So the lunch hour visit was definitely out, which made him more than a bit antsy. Because he'd wanted to get to the hospital early not just so he could get _home_ early, but also because he was genuinely concerned about Emily's condition. She was in a frigging CLEAN ROOM for Christ's sake! So he knew the doctors were considering that staph infection to be quite serious. And with half of his mind distracted thinking about how Emily was doing, and whether she was responding yet to the new antibiotics, of course it took him twice as long to finish the brief than it would have otherwise. Literally, he didn't get the damn thing wrapped up until almost one thirty.

Two hours later than he'd planned.

And then when he went down to his chief's office to drop off the new nine page document now topping off his three inch thick case file, he ended up getting pulled into an "impromptu" overview of not only the brief in question, but his cases in general.

There was some concern that he'd seemed a bit "distracted" since the bank robbery.

And Aaron's unequivocal, _unvoiced,_ response to that assessment was, 'yeah, no fucking shit, I've been distracted!' Distracted didn't even BEGIN to cover his state of mind for that last week! He was getting pulled in ten different directions by a million different issues. Not the least of which was the nice new scar on his face that popped out at him every time he caught his reflection in ANY shiny surface, the still dissolving stitches that chafed regularly (like a BASTARD) under his shirt sleeves, the _gaggle _of jackass in-laws that he'd wanted to DROP KICK into the Potomac, the fight with his wife about said gaggle, nightmares on a nightly basis about the bank siege, a SECOND fight with his wife, then a THIRD fight with his wife, and then last, but nowhere close to least, Emily!

And everything that came along with her existence in his life.

Of course he didn't tell Milner any of that. All he said to him by way of explanation for his behavior was, "it's been a bit of a rough week getting back into a regular routine again."

And that was not untrue.

Again, the visits with Emily and the home life distractions, were definitely outside the norm. If he was honest with himself though (and _only_ himself, he had no intention of sharing this point with his boss), since the attack at the bank, he had been finding his actual 'work' a bit frustrating too. It wasn't that anything specific had happened to sour him on it, it was just the opposite really.

Things just NEVER changed.

He drafted papers, he finalized papers, he filed papers, he received papers, he _argued_ about papers . . . and that was basically his life. Or, to be more specific, his work life. Though he did have the best conviction rate in the office, there was just very little that challenged him now with the cases themselves. They certainly kept him busy, but again, that was because of all the damn PAPERWORK!

There was nothing to be done about that though.

He was a lawyer. One who worked for the United States government . . . paperwork was his life! But he knew that it was basically a good job, and he was doing good work, and within the year he should get that promotion. So he just needed to power through until then. And before he left the chief's office, (sixty-seven minutes after he'd walked into it), he assured Milner that he was feeling completely focused to start the new week coming.

Yeah, that was crap.

Because half the time they'd been talking, he'd been mentally counting away the minutes, and how many more until he could break away for his visit to Emily.

And with that extended, unplanned, conference, his whole afternoon had gotten f'd up. There was no way he could run out then . . . at three o'clock . . . because he'd be getting back right at five. Which would be ridiculous. So now once again he was going to have to make the Emily visit after work.

Damn it.

And ANY other God damn day, he would have just said, no, he could skip that visit, and go tomorrow. But not with her just diagnosed with that fever and infection. He had to go. For her sake, as well as his own.

He'd be up all night if he didn't go.

So with the NEW plan of now being home no later than five past six . . . given how short his commute was, Haley would be expecting him by six fifteen at the latest . . . Aaron was shutting his computer down at five fifty-five, and running out the door at five pm on the dot. In the past he used to stay until at least five forty-five, often six, but since the events of the week before, he hadn't stayed beyond five o'clock. That was another thing likely to be 'noticed' in his next discussion with Milner.

Again though, he didn't much care.

On average, he put in HUNDREDS of hours of overtime every year. Both in the office, and at home. And as a government employee, he was rarely compensated for any of it. So he wasn't going to feel guilty about a few weeks where he 'nine to five'd' the office part, on a regular basis.

Still though he had no desire (ever) to make chit chat with his co-workers, so rather than waiting for the elevator with the rest of the herd, he bounced through the fire door and down the back staircase.

There were ten flights to the bottom, but it was good exercise.

And after he'd popped out into the garage, he double-timed it over to his car. If traffic was with him, he hoped to be at the hospital within fifteen minutes.

And it seemed like he might actually hit his target that night.

Because he did indeed get down to the hospital by quarter past, and was gowning up for the visit to Emily's room by five-twenty. Though when he stepped through her door, he stopped short at what he saw in front of him.

Emily, sobbing into her hands.

"Oh Emily," he murmured behind the mask while hurrying across the room, "what's wrong?"

"Oh um," her eyes widened when she saw him come in, then she sniffled and tried to stop crying, "nothing. Just," she sucked in a ragged breath, "a bad day."

His brow creased as he reached out to touch her shoulder.

"What happened?" He asked softly.

"My dad just called," she continued with another sniffle, "he said he'd talked to you and he knew about the infection, and that he was sorry that he wasn't here, but he's gonna be held up for a few more days and um," she swallowed, "I miss him so much, and I wanted to ask him to just come home, but he already sounded so guilty that I tried to pretend like he didn't need to worry, that everything was fine," her voice cracked, "but it's not! I feel horrible, and I can't sleep, and they still can't break my fever. It's been running over a hundred all day."

Feeling a sickening turn in his stomach, Aaron dropped down onto the edge of the bed.

Though he was trying to think of something encouraging to say, for the moment, he was at a loss. Because though he had been 'concerned' about her condition, he realized then that on a subconscious level he had kind of expected that the new antibiotics would do the trick. Maybe not the first dose, but it had been almost a full twenty-four hours since she'd had that first dose, and generally there was _some_ reaction by that point.

Apparently for her though, there hadn't been.

And when he looked up to see her trying to wipe away the tears from her already fever flushed skin, he felt another twist in his gut. Though this one was a little further north.

He tried to ignore the geography of it though.

Instead, seeing the box of tissues had been moved to the half table over her bed, he reached over to pluck one out. Then he caught Emily's hand, the one she was unsuccessfully trying to dry her face with, and gently wiped away her tears.

Still though, he said nothing . . . he was thinking.

Finally though, after he'd finished wiping her face, he took a breath, and squeezed her hand.

"It's only been a day," he said softly, "you can't get discouraged after just one day. I'm sure that we'll see results soon. And in the meantime," with his free hand he picked up the nurse's call button, "I'm going to see if they can give you something to help you sleep."

Seeing Emily's eyes widen in alarm at that thought, he squeezed her fingers.

"I know," he soothed, "I know, you don't like sleeping in here. And you don't like the sedatives generally. But you said you already feel lousy, and I think getting this infection is going to be ten times worse for you, if you're in here by yourself all day, and all night, alert, and aware of _every_ drop going into the IV, and every tick on the thermometer. You just need to let a little time pass, and you'll be better before you really even know it." He gave her fingers a squeeze, "does that make sense?"

It took a second, but then he saw Emily give him a slow nod.

"Yeah," she sniffed, "I guess that does kind of make sense, because I really was going out of my mind worrying all day. I couldn't sleep last night," her mouth twisted, "I'm overtired, and I can't focus to read or watch TV," she bit her lip as her eyes started to water again, "I just keep thinking."

"Exactly," Aaron cut in smoothly, "and that is exactly what you should not be doing. Too much time stuck in your own head, when you're sick, is not going to get you well. It's just going to get you depressed. So let's see how amenable they are to letting you take a little siesta."

It was just then that Emily's phone rang. As she reached for it, Emily explained to Aaron, that given how involved the process was for getting into see her now, the nurses weren't coming straight down now with every push of the buzzer.

They called first.

So after she'd picked up, Emily explained to Nurse Jolene what she wanted, and it turned out that her surgeon had actually left an optional script for anti-anxiety meds with a sedative in them. But they'd been holding off on giving it to her, because they knew Emily was on record as being firmly against the sedatives. And as it wasn't 'necessary' treatment, they hadn't wanted to upset her by pushing it again.

But Emily told her she was fine with trying hem again. So after she hung up, Jolene gowned up and came down to give Emily two little pink pills.

It wasn't long after, when they were talking about Aaron's day at work . . . he'd discovered last week she liked hearing about his cases, go figure . . . that he saw Emily's eyelids starting to droop. So he patted her leg.

"Okay, you're getting tired, and I actually do have to run, so this is what we're going to do." He leaned over to open her nightstand drawer, "I am going to give you my phone number." He pulled out her green notepad and pen, "it's for my office. A direct line. And you can call me in the morning, and let me know how you're feeling. Because when I was getting gowned up," he looked up, knowing he needed to say this to her face . . . even if was through a mask, "Nancy said that I probably wouldn't be able to visit tomorrow."

Noting the panic on Emily's face at that news, he caught her fingers.

"I know," he squeezed her hand, "I'm sorry. But with the clean room, and the slow response to the first antibiotic course, apparently they want to start keeping your outside exposure to the _bare_ minimum. So basically just the needed medical staff," his eyes crinkled slightly, "and you know I'm probably teaming with germs."

Though he'd hoped the small joke might ease her tension a bit, it was clear that it didn't. Because he could see the tears start to glisten, but she quickly looked away.

"No, no," she responded quietly while wiping the corner of her eye, "it's fine. I'll be fine."

Knowing he couldn't leave her like that, so downtrodden, he leaned over and pulled her into a hug. It was a little awkward with the gown and the mask and gloves . . . it certainly wasn't very 'intimate,' which was probably a good thing . . . and at first she resisted him. Instead holding herself rigidly, even as he pulled her closer. But he knew that he couldn't let go, not yet, and sure enough, after another few seconds, he felt her suck in a ragged breath. Then there was a sniffle. And a moment later she finally relaxed against his chest.

_Good girl._

"Thank you for giving me your number," she sniffed into the gown, "I'll call you around eleven, if that's okay?"

"That's perfect," he murmured back, "I have a staff meeting at ten, but I'm sure I'll be back at my desk by then. If I don't answer, just try me at eleven fifteen, okay?"

She pulled back to give him a sad smile.

"Okay."

Though he hated that she was falling back into that dark place again, there wasn't much more he could do for her really. And so with one more squeeze of her fingers, and the instruction to keep a good though about her medicine, he gave her a wave . . . and left the room.

It was 5:52.

And traffic was on his side, so he was parking in front of his apartment building, at 6:13.

Perfect.

When he walked through the front door twenty seconds later, he discovered that Haley had dinner in the oven, a roast chicken, and mashed potatoes on the stove. And in that moment he was thanking EVERY God in the universe, that he'd gotten home exactly on time!

It would have been a disaster if he'd been late.

So he had what, on the surface, appeared to be a very nice, conciliatory, dinner with his wife. She'd even made dessert.

A chocolate cake.

Though, just like with the meeting that afternoon with his chief, Aaron couldn't deny that while they were eating, he was once again, more than a little distracted with thoughts of Emily, and how she was doing. Still though, he tried very hard to stay 'present' while Haley was talking. Even if what she was talking _about_, wasn't a topic of much interest to him.

Her cousin's new house in Annapolis.

If she noticed that he seemed a bit distracted though, she didn't say anything. And after dinner, he helped her with the dishes and sat with her a bit while she watched some show he'd never heard of, then he gave her a kiss, and went down to his office to finish reviewing a subpoena he was sending out the next day. All in all it was a fairly typical night.

At least one that would have passed for "typical," a few weeks before.

And though the activities were all normal, there was an undercurrent running through them. Part of it definitely grew out of his worries about Emily, but he wasn't sure if that was all of it. Either way though, when he put way his paperwork at ten, and went off to join his wife already in bed, he reminded himself that this was his life. The one that he'd been perfectly (mostly) content with just a few weeks earlier. He simply needed to get back in the groove of things again.

That was all.

So he tried. Though now there were some new elements to add into his routine day to day activities. Chief among them, his talks with Emily.

Each day Aaron arrived at the office at eight thirty, and each day at eleven on the dot, he'd get a call from Emily. The first day she sounded a little woozy, and sad, but he worked hard to lift her spirits, and by the time they said goodbye twenty minutes later, he had at least made her laugh once. It wasn't until after he hung up, that he felt a dig at the realization that laugh was going to be her only one of the day. Because now she was there alone.

There would be nobody to cheer her up.

A point which was chafing with him, perhaps even more than it was chafing with her. Because as the days went on, she sounded more and more depressed. To be honest, he was starting to feel that way himself too. It was getting more difficult to paste on the 'happy times' face for Haley when he walked into the door each night. And it didn't take long for his wife to notice the change in his mood, but he just chalked it up to it being a stressful time work. And he had been quite busy that week with filing deadlines on three of his cases. So his answer was truthful.

It just wasn't the whole story.

Because by the fourth day of Emily's infection, he was considering stopping into the hospital on his way home, just to see the nurses.

He wanted to find out what her official condition was.

Because when he asked Emily how she was doing, she just said she didn't feel well. Then sometimes she would start crying. And then she'd apologize and through her sniffles, say it was just that she was tired. That was all. But he knew that wasn't all.

She was also scared to death.

Because she clearly wasn't getting any better. Every day she sounded weaker. And the more days that passed with her condition clearly deteriorating, the more terrified he was becoming too. He just wanted to SEE her! If nothing else, he could at least give her a hug when she started to cry. And then he could tell her that she'd be better soon.

He was sure of it.

He wasn't really. But he was pretty sure that she'd believe him if he said it.

And that would be enough.

When Saturday morning rolled around, and Aaron woke up at eight to realize that they hadn't made any arrangements for speaking over the weekend, he started kicking himself. Because as of yesterday, her parents had still been away, so he didn't even know if they were calling her today to see how she was doing. And though he would have loved to have given her his home number, there was just no way in hell that would have worked.

Not with Haley home all weekend.

Briefly, he considered just calling her directly, but again, he was worried about Haley. They had two extensions and she could easily pick one up. But then when she pointed out over breakfast that they were running low on both milk and coffee, it was like a gift from the gods.

He practically flew out of his chair saying he'd go pick some up.

Unfortunately there was no point in going to the hospital itself, because Emily still couldn't have any visitors. But while he was at the Safeway, he used the payphone out front, to call Emily's room.

It was just a little before eleven, and she definitely should have been there . . . but she didn't answer.

And that scared the shit out of him. So after he'd slammed down the phone, he pulled out another stack of change, and called the hospital again. That time he asked for the nurse's desk in the ICU. Patty answered, and though she sounded pleased to hear from him, there was also a hesitation in her voice. So he just asked her flat out what was wrong with Emily.

After another pause, she whispered that none of the antibiotics had worked so far. That they were on their third treatment approach, but she was just getting worse each day.

They were beginning to worry that her infection might be completely drug resistant.

That was enough to make Aaron's stomach drop, and stay there. But after taking a few silent, ragged breaths, he asked if it might be possible to come in and see her. Just for a minute. That it might at least raise her spirits. And though Patty agreed that the visit probably would help her mood, with her being so ill at that point, there was just no way. She couldn't get exposed to anything else.

It might kill her.

So after a faint, subdued, "I understand, thank you for the information," Aaron slowly hung up the phone. Then he leaned over and pressed his head against the glass door.

_Shit._

/*/*/*/*/*

The following Wednesday afternoon, Aaron was sitting at his desk, tapping his pen and trying to concentrate on reading the new appeals calendar. But mostly he was just thinking about Emily. She'd been on his mind constantly since that call with Patty. The rest of his weekend had flown by in some weird daze of he didn't even know what. Haley had wanted to go to the movies Saturday night, so he'd taken her.

He had no idea what they saw, or who was in it.

Everything that went into his brain, went right back out of it again. He wasn't able to concentrate on anything beyond the live moment in which it was happening. All did basically was wait for Monday when he would hear from Emily again.

And though she did call him, she'd sounded so weak, and her words were so slurred, that he'd barely been able to understand her. All he could make out, was that she was really scared, and that she'd been having terrible dreams.

Then she started to cry, and his gut began to ache. And though he tried to keep her on the phone, to tell her it would be okay, she'd be better soon, at that she just began to sob. Then she hung up.

He hadn't spoken to her since.

Of course he'd tried to talk to her. When she'd missed the Tuesday call, he'd dialed the nurse's desk just to make sure nothing had happened to her. Unfortunately he got some new woman, who wouldn't give him any information at all beyond a straight confirmation that Emily Prentiss was still a patient on the floor. So all he knew, basically, was that she wasn't dead. Which was of course, great news, but not particularly specific.

And the lack of information, was driving him out of his fucking mind!

So when Emily missed that morning call as well, again he'd tried the nurses. That time the phone just rang and rang. The implications of that were making him sick to his stomach. Were they busy with Emily? Was it Emily? Were they running tests on her? Is that why she hadn't called again? Or had something happened? His eyes started to sting.

Something bad.

Because they had a lot of medical reference books kept as part of the USAO legal library, so he'd been reading up on those staph infections. How truly dangerous they were. So he knew now the numbers on people who went into the hospital and got them as a "surgical complication." He also now knew now the numbers on people who got the kind that were completely resistant to antibiotics.

And given the turn Emily had taken, and the radio silence coming out of her ward, Aaron was absolutely terrified that was the kind that she had.

It was just then that his phone rang. And with only half of his attention on the call . . . work was the last of his concerns at the moment . . . he reached over to pick up the receiver without even looking down at the caller ID.

"Aaron Hotchner," he muttered, mostly distracted.

"IT BROKE!"

And his head popped up as his pen fell out of his fingers.

"Emily?!"

"Yes," she chattered back excitedly, "it's me! My fever broke yesterday afternoon! And they ran my blood last night and this morning, and the results were the same both times! It's all clear! The infection's GONE!"

Feeling a burst of joy in his chest . . . thank you JESUS! . . . Aaron broke into a huge grin.

"That is WONDERFUL news!" He exclaimed.

"I know!" Then she bit her lip, "so can you come see me tonight?" She asked hopefully, "I've missed you."

"Tonight?" he repeated back drily. "Hell," he started closing up his folder, "I'm coming to see you right now!"

Hearing her squeal of delight come through the phone, Aaron couldn't stop his mouth from twitching in amusement.

"All right," he shifted the phone to his other ear so he could shut down his computer, "I have to hang up now or I'm never going to get there."

Yes, he was cutting out of the office three and a half hours before the work day ended. But given that he'd had his ass planted in his chair, every day for the last six work days, with barely so much as leaving his desk ONCE each afternoon for a fresh cup of coffee, he wasn't going to feel badly about that at all.

He'd definitely accrued some time off.

So after he'd gotten his computer shut down, he shoved his notepad and case file into his brief case, and headed out the door with just a cheerful yell of "good night!" to his secretary.

She didn't even look up.

When he got to the ICU fifteen minutes later, he slipped around the nurse's desk with a grin and a wave . . . he got a lot of boisterous hellos and happy smiles in return . . . and continued down to Emily's room.

The infectious disease sign was gone . . . thank God . . . and the door was actually open a small crack.

"Emily," he slowly pushed it back, "it's me. Are you awake?"

"Of course I'm awake," she called out when she saw him step through the doorway, "you said you were coming to see me!"

His mouth again quivered at her excitement.

"Just checking," he chuckled softly while walking over to the bed where Emily was sitting up. This time there was no pretense of attempting to maintain any distance. He dropped his bag on the floor, sat down on the edge of the mattress and pulled his knee up so he could face her. Then she opened her arms . . . and he leaned over to pull her into a hug.

"God, I'm so glad you're better," he murmured into her ear, "I've been worried sick about you all week." And she nodded back against his shoulder.

"Yeah, it was a long week," she whispered back, "I've been worried sick about me too."

Feeling Aaron huff slightly, Emily closed her eyes.

Good GOD had she missed him! More than she might have even had any right to probably, given that he was still another woman's husband. But considering how tightly he was holding her . . . and how long the embrace was lasting . . . she wasn't going to feel any guilt about that. Because he had a feeling that he might have missed her quite a bit too.

And that was just when she felt him run his hand down her side.

Along her ribs.

"You lost weight," he murmured before pulling back so he could look her in the eyes, "weren't you eating?"

It wasn't something he'd thought to ask her about on the phone. Now he wished that he had.

"Eh," she bit back a sigh while shaking her head, "I tried, but I've had no appetite at all. I think it was the medicine. Basically I just choked down enough to make them stop threatening to put me back on the feeding tube."

That would have been one nightmare too many to bear. But seeing Aaron's brow wrinkle with concern over her comment, she quickly added.

"But Jolene said that they're going to bring me some of those supplement drinks, which should help me gain back whatever I've lost."

"I hope so," Aaron added softly while brushing his thumb along her jaw, "because you really didn't have any weight you could afford to lose."

Yes, her color was better than the last time he'd visited, but her cheekbones were much too prominent. And holding her just now, he could feel how much more fragile her body felt than even last week. And she'd barely weighed anything at all back then. He'd noticed that the day he'd picked her up off the bathroom floor.

She was like a feather.

"Don't worry," Emily gave him a little smile, "I'll be chubbing up in no time at all. Just need to get some milkshakes in me."

"Oh," he pulled back slightly to slip one hand into his jacket pocket, "that reminds me, I brought you something."

Emily looked down, immediately breaking into a grin at what he was holding out.

"A ring ding," she chuckled.

"Yeah well," his lip quirked up, "I was in a hurry to get here. It's from the vending machine down the hall."

He'd been stepping off the elevator when he'd realized he should have brought her some kind of present. At that point the vending machine in the waiting area, had become the only game left in town. But he could see that Emily was genuinely happy with it.

And that was all that mattered.

Though as his gaze shifted up from her smiling face, his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw.

_I'll be damned._

"Hey," he huffed, "you've got sprouts!"

"What?" Emily eyes rolled up, though she couldn't see anything, "you mean my hair's growing in?"

"Yeah," his fingertips ghosted along her temple, "definitely. Before you just had a little bit of peach fuzz there but," his eyes crinkled slightly as they bounced back down to hers, "you should have little spikes popping out anytime now."

God, so many changes in her body in barely a week. It felt like he hadn't seen her in months.

And though he would have thought Emily would be pleased by the news about her coming back, he could see that she was biting her lip.

She looked nervous.

"Is it growing in over the incision line?" She asked quietly.

Outside of just getting well, and just getting out of the hospital with all of her faculties intact, that was her biggest fear. That she was going to be twenty-two, and have a raggedy bald spot running down the side of her head. She'd look like a freak.

A name often screamed at her in high school.

"Well," Aaron looked back up, "not yet," then his eyes snapped back to Emily's. "But that doesn't mean that it won't grow in," he pointed out with a reassuring smile, "you have to give it a little time, and," he caught one of the longer strands on the other side, twirling it around his finger, "maybe if you shortened this side up a bit, it would help balance things out a bit until it does all grow in."

For a second Emily said nothing, then she looked up at him.

"Would you cut it?" She asked softly, "I trust you."

It was a strange favor, she knew that, but she didn't really have anybody else to ask at the moment. God only knew when her parents would be back in town.

And she had no other visitors.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Aaron's lip quirked up, "but I'm not sure the nurses would trust me with a sharp object that close to your head. So we probably should ask if one of them could do it so I don't take your eye out."

Her nose wrinkled.

"Do you think they'd actually do it though? I mean, isn't that kind of outside their, you know, 'scope' of responsibilities?"

"Well," he responded flatly, "you had no problem asking me, and I can guarantee you that as a federal prosecutor, cosmetology is definitely outside _my_ scope of responsibilities."

Seeing Emily's mouth quiver as a faint blush touched her cheeks, Aaron rewarded her with a half a dimple. Then she leaned over to give him another hug, and he said what the hell, and pulled even closer. Though holding her again, gave him a strange feeling in his stomach.

Like butterflies.

When he'd first come in, he hadn't really noticed it, because he was just so happy to see that she was well. But now that he was feeling the sensation again, he was pretty sure that it had happened the first time too. And he knew what the butterflies had meant for him in the past, so he was very afraid about what they meant for him now. Because he used to feel them for Haley, back in the beginning.

So what did it mean if he was feeling them for Emily today?

The question started to bear down, but after a few seconds, he brushed it aside. Because he didn't want to think about the implication there right now. The implications for his life. He was just too happy.

And he didn't want to ruin it.

So though he knew that it was wrong, now on SO many levels, he held her close just a little bit longer. They were both quiet and still. Emily with her head resting on his shoulder, him gently running his hand up and down her back. That was all until he heard someone clear his throat from directly behind them.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Wincing slightly, Aaron loosened his hold on Emily to turn and see exactly who he feared was now standing in the open doorway.

Her father.

_Crap._

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Yes, yes, I know if he was YOUR man, you would SO not be cool with either the tone, the words, or the touching, of Emily. Aaron's shiny armor, which was a bit dented at the beginning, definitely took a mighty beating there at the end. But I promise, next time around, he will start dealing with all of these feelings that he hasn't been dealing with. Because keep in mind, before Emily got the infection, he was a bit in denial about his feelings for her. He kept telling himself she was 'just' a new friend that he really, really, REALLY liked. But clearly here at the end now he's seen how much he'd missed seeing her just that one week, and how worried he was about her dying, and that he's actually in quite a mess. But he's basically a stand up guy, so let's see how he handles things from here on out, before we condemn him completely for the 'husbandly infractions' :) _

_Also, I don't think it's too soon for him to have fallen for her. Some people believe in love at first sight, I don't, but they definitely had a spark at first sight. And they've spent time together almost every day for three plus weeks now. That might be a little soon to get married, but not too soon to become infatuated if the attraction was already there. So now, what does he do? ... next tme._

_I wanted to cut this in like four places. And I literally could have cut it in ANY of those places because it's an EIGHTEEN page document! But I said no, POWER THROUGH! Because I'm trying to keep all this shit moving, so I figure take the extra 2 days and just clean the whole damn monster chapter up, rather than holding half of it for polishing later, and then I get sucked into something else, so later drags things out like three more weeks. I'm not saying three weeks from now you're definitively getting another chapter, but at least the next one will be another phase in the story beyond her major health scare. And I 'think' we're maybe within two chapters of Emily getting out of the hospital. Yes, yay! I was able to kick this one so much farther forward timewise, because I interspersed a lot of narrative. If I can find the right words, and I can maybe conjure up another eighteen thousand OF them, I'd like to do that next time also, to push her out the door, so to speak :)_

_Funny thing here writing this back for 1993, I had to stop and think if Aaron would have worked with a computer. He would have. Because I was starting college, and working Financial Aid, and I remember we did have individual computers there (though basically they were kind of dummy terminals),but still the Justice Department definitely would have had PCs for their attorneys even if they were basically just word processors. And then again in that scene, when he was talking about accruing OT so he could just take off, now a days we call that accruing flex time, but I know that's a 21st century term :) I have no idea who invented it or when, but if Aaron were to say in back in '93, nobody would have the first freaking clue what he could be talking about. I had the same issue with "Caller ID." I actually googled when it was invented, because I just remember going from a rotary phone at home, to multiple lines the first time I entered an office. But I had no memory of the first time I saw a phone number on a tiny little screen. Apparently, if I was in a big city, it could have been anytime after 1989. So again, figured DC would have been on that techno bandwagon! :)_

_As always, thank you everyone!_


	15. The Short Goodbye

**Author's Note**: Direct continuation. It's a long one!

* * *

><p><strong>TV Prompt Set #71<strong>

Show: Grey's Anatomy

Challenge: With Or Without You

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Short Goodbye<strong>

"Daddy!"

Emily yelping over Aaron's shoulder, gave him the opportunity to politely disentangle their embrace without looking like he was tossing her away like a hot potato.

Which he absolutely was.

Because he'd heard the tone in her father's question, and he wasn't looking to agitate the man any further than however much he was _already_ agitated for walking in and seeing him holding his daughter.

Fortunately though, Aaron was actually able to stand up, and with a polite smile and a, "sir, very nice to see you again," get out of the way of Emily's newest visitor without in any way responding to the, _"am I interrupting something?"_ inquiry.

Thank God!

"Oh," with a faint pout, Emily reached out to her father as he walked up, "I'm so happy to see you, Dad. It's been an awful week."

"I know pumpkin," Richard gave his daughter a sad smile, while simultaneously leaning down to pull her into a hug, "and I'm so sorry I wasn't able to get home earlier."

Though he was aware that technically he wouldn't have been allowed in to see her the last few days that she'd been so ill, it still would have been better if he'd managed to be on the same continent while she was trapped in a plastic bubble.

At the very least then he could have gotten out of the running for, '_Worst Father in the World.'_

Which was exactly how he felt before he'd arrived. But it was even worse now that his daughter was hanging off his neck like she hadn't seen him in a year. And it most CERTAINLY didn't help when she murmured, "it's okay dad, I'm just glad you're home now."

It was truly astonishing how she'd always been so forgiving of his travel demands. And that was even though he'd missed more than his share of birthdays and family holidays. He rubbed his hand down her back.

She was far too good to him.

Aaron, realizing that it would probably be best to let Emily have some time alone with her father . . . even if he was there first, he had no standing . . . lightly cleared his throat.

When Emily's gaze shifted up, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"I'm going to run out and get a cup coffee." His eyebrow inched up as Emily's father turned back to him as well. "Does anybody want anything?"

"Cheeseburger, maybe?" Emily asked with a hopeful smile, "you know, to get me fattened up."

Those nutritional drinks were only going to take her so far, and also, they didn't come in burger flavors!

"Yeah," Aaron's eyes crinkled, "I think I can scrounge up a cheeseburger." Then his gaze shifted as he sobered.

"Mr. Prentiss, did you want anything?"

And he saw Emily's father shake his head before giving him a firm, "no thank you. I'm fine."

Richard made sure to make full eye contact with Aaron while speaking, and he did that because he wanted to see if the younger man would attempt to avoid his gaze. Which was something that a married man would _definitely_ do if he felt that he'd been behaving, "inappropriately," with a single, female friend.

And that is what it had appeared, to Richard's perception, _might_ have been the situation when he'd walked in to see the two of them embracing. But whatever had, or had not, transpired between this man and his daughter, Aaron did not avoid his gaze. He actually held it for a moment, before giving him a faint nod. Which, though he respected that the kid at least had some balls on him, did not change Richard's opinion that the hug he'd walked in on, had most definitely NOT been a platonic one!

But still, Richard waited until Aaron was gone and the door had again fallen shut, before he looked back down to his daughter. And he was just about to open his mouth to share his thoughts on that _un_platonic hug, when Emily surprised him by reaching up to press her finger to his lips.

"Before you say what I know you're going to say, let _me_ say," she gave him a look, "don't. Because it's just going to lead to an argument, and," her hand fell down as she sighed, "I don't want to argue. I'm an adult, and my relationship with Aaron, is my business. And that's the end of it."

Though she knew that she could have, and perhaps should have, told her father that she and Aaron weren't having an affair, she chose not to. Because if she gave an inch on this point, then her father would feel that he was entitled to keep inquiring. And he wasn't. Because truly, their relationship_ wasn't_ any of his, or anyone else's, concern.

Especially considering, she thought with a little surge of indignation, that Aaron had been the ONLY consistent emotional support that she'd had since she'd _arrived_ at the hospital! He stayed with her when she was hurt, through the ambulance ride, through the surgery, and was back again by her side the next morning.

And he was there every day since.

Or at least every day that she could have a visitor. And the days that she couldn't, he called. And he was the only one that did that too. She didn't begrudge her parents for needing to work as much as they did, she knew how important their jobs were, but sometimes it would be nice if she could be important too.

If they could just _occasionally_, put her first.

Well . . . she thought with a faint surge of bitterness . . . she had somebody now in her life, somebody who wasn't blood, somebody who wasn't even _HERS_, and he still put her first! And she sure as hell wasn't going to debate that man's presence or role, with ANYONE, least of all her father. He didn't get to decide who she spent time with.

That was her decision alone.

And she could see from the blink of surprise on her father's face, that he hadn't been expecting her to shut him down so quickly. Before he could say anything else though, she added one more thing.

And that one more thing came with a lot more bite.

"And don't you _dare_ speak to him either. If you do," she shook her head, "I don't want to see you here again."

For a moment Richard stared back at his daughter, considering her words, and the likelihood of her carrying through on that threat. Finally he tipped his head.

"Understood."

It wasn't worth it to risk alienating her. Because he'd seen how those ultimatums had worked out when his wife tried to 'lay down the law.' Emily had just pulled further and further away. To the point that Richard didn't know if the damage done to _their_ relationship would ever heal.

On their worst days it seemed like they would never be close again.

And though he stood by his own initial instincts to try and protect his daughter, Emily had a very valid point . . . she was an adult now. Which meant that she was entitled to make decisions about her life, and the people that she chose to have in it. And provided that those people weren't going to physically harm her, which Hotchner _clearly_ was not, she should be able to make those decisions without any parental input, or commentary.

She had left home long ago.

But Richard did want Emily to know that his interest here was simply for her well-being, and that was all. So though she was clearly still a put out with him, he ignored that to lean down and kiss her forehead. Because she was still his baby whether she liked it or not.

Most days he would say not.

"I'm not trying to intrude Emily," he pulled back, brushing the palm of his hand along her cheek, "truly, I'm not. And you're right, it is your life. I just worry because I'm not able to be here for you like most fathers are. So I just don't want you to get hurt and I can't help you, because I'm six thousand miles away."

Emily bit down on her lip . . . when he spoke like that, her father did make it impossible to stay angry with him.

"I appreciate that dad, I do, but," she swallowed, "I already have a parent who gives me a constant chorus of unsolicited commentary on my life choices," she gave him a look, "and good intentions or not, I can't take that from you too."

Feeling a wave of affection rise up at her obvious exasperation with him, Richard's eyes crinkled slightly.

"You won't have to, pumpkin. I promise. If you want to talk, just call me, but from here on out I promise that I will bite my tongue unless you specifically ask for advice, or I feel that you are in some kind of physical danger. And," he rolled his eyes slightly, "it does seem unlikely that Hotchner poses any 'physical, threat to you."

The thought was actually quite laughable.

"Yeah dad," Emily rolled her eyes, "pretty sure Aaron isn't a _serial killer_ so you can stop worrying about that point too. So," she took a breath to try to clear that slight disagreement from the air, "what else can we talk about?"

"Well," Richard's eyes crinkled slightly as he reached into his pocket, happy to change the subject, "I did bring you a present." He pulled out the small silk pouch, "I don't think you have anything like this yet."

He passed over the small gift, watching as Emily's eyes lit up when she saw what was inside.

"Oooh," Emily bit her lip, "no, I don't." She slipped the bracelet out and into the palm of her right hand. It was a silver band with tiny hand carved elephants dangling from it like little charms.

It was beautiful.

"I love it," she murmured while brushing her finger along the shiny metal before looking up with a twitching eyebrow.

"India?"

It had been a custom, since Emily was small, for her father to pick up little trinkets for her from around the world. At the current point in time, given her own travel and his, there were actually few 'notable' countries left from which she didn't have any mementos at all.

India was one of those countries.

But from the shake of her father's head, she knew that her guess had been incorrect.

"Thailand." He responded with wink, "I had a layover."

Emily's lip quirked up in a faint smirk.

"Of course you did." Then she slipped the bracelet back into the silky bag as she looked over at him, "so are you in town for a few days?"

"Yep," he leaned back slightly, "should be around until the end of the month." He patted her leg, "knock wood. So I promise I'll be over to see you every day that you're stuck in here." His lip quirked up. "I'm even going to book it as a block on my calendar so nobody tries to take the time." He pulled out a small leather journal from his inside pocket, "I was planning this window two to three each day?" He started flipping pages. "Does that work for you?"

"Well," Emily leaned back, tapping her finger on her chin while pretending to think for a second, "my social calendar in here is pretty full. But," she shrugged as he smirked at her, "I guess I could work you in for that slot."

Though she appreciated her father attempting to be 'polite' in his scheduling, really, NOBODY else came to see her! Just her parents on the occasional, and Aaron on the regular. For the two or three people that she actually considered 'friends' (real ones who might actually be concerned enough to stop in to visit) they were all back at Yale finishing up their finals.

Of course that's where she would have been as well, if not for that pesky bank robbery.

Which suddenly reminded her . . . finals.

Shit.

"Dad," her brow wrinkled as she saw him tucking away his address book again, "did you or Mother ever call the school and explain what happened to me?"

With everything that _had_ happened to her, and how totally out of it she'd been that whole first week, test taking had truly, COMPLETELY, slipped her mind!

And that was bad!

So bad! Four years of school, six examinations left to take before graduation . . . and she'd dropped off the face of the earth. God, what if they made her repeat the whole QUARTER?!

SHIT!

Seeing from the growing alarm on his daughter's face that she was on the verge of having an actual panic attack on this point, Richard hastened to set her mind at ease.

"It's okay, Emily," he answered her with a firm nod, "calm down. Your mother called the day after your surgery. And you know how she is, she wouldn't talk to any flunkies, she went right to President Levin himself, explained what happened and that you would not be physically well enough to take your exams for at least a few months. So per his instruction, we got a letter from your surgeon and sent that up to the school so you are now officially on a medical deferment, and whenever you're ready for your finals," his eyes crinkled slightly, "just call the President's Office, and they'll have them set up for you."

"Oh," Emily's eyes fell shut as she let out an immense sigh of relief, "great, thank you." Her eyes popped open, "I don't know why, but I honestly haven't thought about school once since I've been in here."

"Well pumpkin," Richard gently cut in, "you have had a major head injury, which also resulted in you being on a lot of medication. And that's not even counting the last week of you being genuinely, seriously ill, so it is," he gave her a small smile, "_very_ understandable that school had slipped your mind. But once you're home and feeling better you can start brushing up again for your exams. And you don't have to take them all at once, they said you can figure out a schedule that works for you."

"Okay," Emily bit her lip as she nodded, "that's good. I guess I'll do my easier classes first and then do the stats last."

God, she hated stats the first time around and now her thought process was mush and she was going to have to learn them all OVER again! She bit down a sigh.

The universe really did have it in for her.

And seeing her father giving her a sympathetic smile, she knew that he was thinking back on all the complaining she'd been doing about that class. Of course that class, more specifically that _final_, had been the reason she was home the week of the bank robbery. So actually . . . a thought occurred to her, if she hadn't been forced to take that damn course, she wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed right now with half of her hair shaved off, and a raggedy line of Frankenstein stitches in her skull.

But . . . she bit down on her lip . . . another point to consider was, if she hadn't been home that week, then she wouldn't have met Aaron either. At least not in the bank.

And probably not ever.

The world was a big place, and their lives were definitely lived in different spheres. So if not for that random encounter, it's likely she never would have known him.

Huh.

And she was actually prepared to ruminate on that point for a moment . . . if being taken hostage and having a massive brain trauma really _was_ an acceptable trade-off for meeting a wonderful man she could never be with . . . when her father snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"You all right pumpkin," his eyebrow hitched up worriedly, "you kind of drifted away there."

Feeling a slight heat coming into her cheeks . . . always such a spaz, Emily gave him a quick nod and sheepish smile.

"Oh, uh yeah, sorry," she waved her hand slightly, "brain is wandering a bit. I think I need some food," her nose wrinkled, "I've had no appetite for the last week, but now I'm starving."

"Do you want me to go get you something from the machine?" Her father asked, immediately pushing himself back, but Emily just shook her head.

"No," her eyes crinkled, "thanks Dad, but Aaron's bringing me that burger and he should be back soon. So," she patted the side of the bed, anxious to shift the attention away from her health and onto something less depressing, "tell me about Thailand."

Of course her father had never discussed the 'details' of his work with her, but he did (provided the trip wasn't completely classified) tell her about the countries that he visited. A love of travel had been a bonding point for their whole family, so it was something nice to discuss.

And from his tone, and the stories he started to tell her, it did seem that he liked Thailand quite a bit. He told her about some of the markets she might like there, and a few restaurants.

Even a bar.

All in all, her father's knowledge of Bangkok day life and night life, definitely indicated that his stay there had been longer than a simple 'layover.' And though she would have liked to ask him what he'd really been doing there, she'd learned long ago that there were questions that you just didn't voice aloud.

At least not in her family.

But then he saw her trying to hide a yawn from him . . . yawning was unavoidable, she was always tired . . . and he started to quickly wrap up the visit.

"Well," Richard leaned over to kiss Emily's cheek, "I'm going to let you rest." He stood up, "But like I said, I'll be back tomorrow around two."

She smiled. 'K."

Then he leaned down to fix the blankets, before squeezing her hand and starting across the room.

"Bye Dad," Emily called out when he got to the door, "love you." And when he turned around she blew him a kiss before her lips twisted in a wry smile, "even if you do drive me crazy."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "right back at you pumpkin."

Then he blew her a kiss of his own as part of the last wave as he walked out the door.

For a second Emily just looked around the room, and realizing that the television held no appeal, she decided to close her eyes for just a minute. Her father was right, better to rest up now.

After all . . . she bit down another yawn . . . Aaron would be back soon.

/*/*/*/*

When Aaron arrived back at Emily's hospital room sixty plus minutes after he'd left, it was to discover that she was alone again.

And she was sleeping.

Though he tried to leave her dinner without waking her . . . after the thoughts he'd been pondering in his absence, it would be easier for him if he could just slip out . . . unfortunately two steps into the room, and his shoe squeaked on the waxed floor.

Emily's eyes immediately popped open onto his.

"Sorry," he whispered, while walking the rest of the way over to her bed, "did your dad leave already?" And he saw her nod slowly as she put her hand up to cover a yawn.

"Yeah," Emily rolled her neck, "you know he just got back so he had stuff to do."

"Oh," Aaron's brow wrinkled, "okay. Sure. Well," he stopped by the side of her bed to put the white bag down on her small table, "I got your burger," he opened the bag, "and I bought you a milkshake too." Then his huffed faintly to himself as he pulled it from the bag.

"Thought you probably already guessed that was coming."

It was one more thing that he did for her, because it made her happy. And it made _HIM _happy, to see _her_ happy.

God . . . he sighed internally . . . he really was in a mess.

"Yeah," Emily bit her lip to cover over a shy smile, "I did guess that was coming."

He'd brought her a milkshake more often than not, so they were sort of their 'thing.' If it was possible to have a thing that is, within the context of a totally platonic relationship. And obviously it was, because clearly that's what they were.

Totally platonic.

And she reminded herself of that point again when he leaned over her body to help her sit up. And one more time when she got the whiff of his aftershave as he fixed the pillows behind her head. And then one LAST time, when he brushed the back of his hand down her cheek. No matter what she wanted, or how she felt, there was nothing going on.

Nothing at all.

Although that last act of touching her cheek . . . she realized a millisecond later, might actually have just been him checking for fever again. Because she saw him give a little nod to right after his hand dropped down to his side.

So okay, yeah, maybe that one didn't exactly count beyond 'general concern for her well-being.'

Of course that was actually_ legitimately_ platonic.

But anyway, Emily blinked to redirect her wandering attention back to the tiny feast that Aaron had brought her back from McDonald's. And make no mistake, after a week back on nothing but gruel and mushed vegetables, seeing the small cheeseburger and side of fries being spread out on her table top, was a spread worthy of Valhalla!

"Oh, that smells delicious," she moaned as her eyes fell shut for a moment. When they popped open again, she saw Aaron looking at her.

"Sorry," she gave him a sheepish smile, "I'm just really hungry."

Probably for the best really that there was no chance of anything happening between them, because she continued spaz out like it was her JOB!

"I know," his mouth twisted faintly, "you're just cute when you're excited."

Then he seemed to be embarrassed that he'd actually said that out loud, and quickly shifted their attention down to the food he'd just spread out.

"Anyway," he spoke a little too loudly, "I need to get a knife and fork because I just remembered that you need to have all outside food cut up."

"Oh Aaron," Emily tried to cut in, but he just shook his head.

"No, no, rules are rules. And you know if we break them, this might be the last time they'll let you have anything off the menu. So," he pointed to the milkshake, "just take a sip of that and I'll be right back."

And he was. He was barely gone two minutes before he came back in with a set of silverware that he said Nurse Nancy had let him borrow from the staff break room.

So after giving him a little smile of thanks . . . which he oddly seemed to get flustered by . . . Emily watched quietly as Aaron made quick work of turning her meal into tiny, bite sized pieces. Then he murmured that he was going to return the silverware before he forgot, and quickly stepped out before she could say anything.

Given that she was starving, and he hadn't brought any food back for himself, Emily didn't feel obligated to wait for his return before she began popping the little bites into her mouth. But then almost immediately she remembered that the other 'rule' for her eating solid food, was that somebody needed to be in the room with her while she did it.

And though she wasn't about to spit out the bit of burger and fry she already had _in_ her mouth, the worry over getting her 'solid food privileges' removed, was enough for her to be EXTRA careful to chew that bite of food into mush.

She was just swallowing it down when Aaron walked back into the room. And seeing the eyebrow got from him, she quickly put her hand up.

"I know, sorry. I forgot I was supposed to wait, but I wasn't going to take another piece until you were back."

"All right," he nodded while walking over, "as long as you remember for next time, and the nurses didn't see you, then no harm done."

Emily flashed him a quick grin.

"I'll remember next time, I promise."

Then she turned her attention back to the food in front of her. Because now that Aaron was back, there was no reason that she needed to hold off chowing down. And she actually got a little bit distracted with her chewing and milkshake swallowing, because it was a good two or three minutes, and most of her dinner, before she realized that it was really quiet in the room.

And that was kind of weird.

Because usually when she was eating, Aaron would be talking. Telling her about this or that that had happened during his day. So it was unusual for him to be so still.

And when she looked over at him sitting in the visitor's chair that he'd dropped into, she saw that he was staring down at the floor.

"Aaron," she said softly while swallowing her last bite of French fry, "is everything all right?"

"What?" His head snapped back, "uh, yes," he gave a distracted nod, "yes, it's fine."

She bit down on her lip, tasting a grain of salt.

"Are you sure?" She followed up hesitantly, "because you don't seem like everything's fine. You seem like maybe you have something on your mind." She picked up the napkin to wipe her hands before adding with a faint bit of confusion, "did something happen while you were out?"

That had to be it. Because he wasn't behaving this way before he left.

But now he seemed very distracted.

"No, um," Aaron bit down on his lip, hesitant about how to respond to Emily's statement . . . she wasn't wrong about something being on his mind.

Finally he decided on a very simple truth.

"I'm not sure if I'll be able to come back tomorrow," he said quietly, "that's all."

"Oh," Emily's face fell as the napkin fell from her hand, "that's too bad. I've missed you this last week." She gave him a sad smile, "I was hoping we could catch up."

"Yeah," Aaron stared at her for a second before his voice faded, "yeah." Then he seemed to snap back to himself as he began fidgeting with the ball of trash he'd made out of her dinner bag.

"But if I can't be here, then I can't be here, and that's all there is to it!"

The last sentence came out MUCH louder than he'd planned for it to! And immediately seeing from the way that Emily flinched at his words . . . and his tone, that he'd said exactly the wrong thing, in EXACTLY the wrong way, Aaron immediately smacked his forehead.

Asshole.

What was he doing SNAPPING at her?! And also what he said clearly made it sound like his visits were a chore! But he was just frustrated thinking about how he was going to deal with his growing feelings for her! It wasn't her _personally _that he was upset with!

It wasn't her at all!

And he seriously wanted to kick his own ass at the moment for putting that kicked puppy look on her face. So with all of that guilt and regret swirling, he did EXACTLY what he knew he shouldn't be doing . . . he reached out to catch her fingers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered with a squeeze of her hand, "that didn't come out very nicely at all. I'm just a little stressed but," he shook his head even though she wasn't looking at him, "it wasn't right to snap at you. And I do wish I could come over tomorrow, I just don't think it's going to happen. We can catch up next week though."

After a moment's pause, Emily's eyes slowly shifted back over to Aaron's. But there wasn't the usual expression of trust there. No, instead there was a wariness.

Like she was just waiting for him to yell again.

And that's when he remembered . . . she was used to men treating her like crap. All of them. _He_ had been the anomaly.

Key word = had.

And feeling a wave of shame that he had taken that trust that she'd given him, and then gone and hurt her feelings simply because HE was a fucking mess(!), Aaron decided that he needed to be completely honest with her. It would be awkward, and embarrassing, but there was no way that he could leave her this way.

Not with this distance.

So he moved over to sit down on the mattress, then he leaned up to pull her into a hug.

"I am sorry," he whispered, "and I missed you too." Feeling her suck in a raggedy breath, he leaned back slightly to give her a sad smile, "and that's why I need to stay away for a few days."

"What do you mean?" She swallowed nervously, "why do you have to stay away?"

Knowing that he was hurting her more than he already, and hating himself for it, Aaron tried to soften the blow a bit by reaching out to brush his fingers along her cheek.

"I like you Emily," his mouth twisted faintly, "too much. I realized that today when I saw how much better you were and I realized how terrified I'd been that you would not get well. And I've missed you so much this week, and I think I need to step back a bit and consider what that means." His eyebrow inched up slightly.

"Does that make sense?"

"I don't know," Emily's eyes started to fill as her voice thickened, "does that mean that you're not going to come see me anymore?"

_Oh God, why was this happening NOW?! _

"No," Aaron quickly shook his head as he caught Emily's fingers again, "no Emily, that's not what I meant at all. I just," he sighed, "I need a few days. Because I don't want to make a mess of things, and I'm very afraid of making a huge mess of my life," he gave her a sad smile, "and yours."

Knowing that Aaron was saying something important there, that maybe his feelings for her were becoming as serious as her feelings were for him, Emily didn't feel the wave of joy that she might have thought.

Instead it was simply despair.

Because he was still married. And he was a stand-up guy. So he wouldn't cheat. Not that she would want him to, she wouldn't let herself be used that way, but the alternative was the one now staring them in the face.

He was going to start staying away.

Perhaps it really would just be for a few days now, but that wouldn't be the end of it. He wouldn't take his little break and work things out in his head only to decide to throw away an X number of years marriage, for her.

Nobody would ever leave his wife, for _her_.

So he'd come up with a plan, one that he would think would be kind. He'd come back to visit next week for a day or two . . . and then he'd take another break. Another few days off . . . maybe one more day to stop by with a milkshake. And then those breaks would get longer and longer, and the visits would be shorter and shorter. It was inevitable.

Because it was the only way for him to keep being married.

Feeling her heart start to crack . . . she just wasn't ready for that reality to slap her in the face . . . Emily put her hand over her mouth to cover the sob trying to escape. But that's when Aaron pulled her into his arms again.

"Shhh," he murmured with a kiss to her temple, "Emily, come on now, please don't cry. I know you weren't expecting me to dump this on you, but I'm just trying to be honest because I don't want to lie to you the way I've been lying to my wife."

That statement, actually got Emily's attention. Her head snapped up as she pushed him back.

"You've been lying to your wife?" She asked in surprise.

That was literally the LAST thing she would have expected to hear him say! And she could see from the twist of shame on his face, that it wasn't a point that he was proud about.

Good.

The lying thing was . . . interesting, but she didn't want him to be a scuzzy husband who was proud of lying and sneaking around. That would ruin her opinion of him. Even if _she_ was the reason for the lying and sneaking.

Yeah, things were a bit of a mess.

"Yes," Aaron bit down on his lip, "I haven't told her about you at all. And all these weeks, I've been making excuses in my head for why that is. Why it's not so bad because my visits here are on my way home so it's just a slight omission of information about my day and that's not such a big deal, but," he shook his head, "it is." He sighed, "it is a big deal. Because if it wasn't a big deal," he gave her a pointed look, "if _you,_ weren't a big deal to me, then I would have said something by now to my wife."

It had NOT been his intention to throw all of his cards down on the table with Emily, but once he'd started speaking, he just couldn't stop! His mind had been racing when he'd arrived back at the hospital, and he'd planned to do a quick 'in and out' dropping off her dinner, before taking a VERY long drive to try and clear his head.

But that hadn't happened.

He'd gotten stuck on Emily's question. Her very simple question where she asked if there was anything on his mind. And unlike Haley . . . who he'd had ZERO problems lying to all month . . . he didn't even consider attempting to tell a tiny white lie to Emily.

And that was significant too.

So he was now spilling his guts to the sweet, funny girl that he might actually . . ._ POSSIBLY(!)_ . . . be falling in love with.

Crap!

Feeling a faint fluttering in her stomach where a moment before a lead ball had been sitting there weighing her down, Emily sniffled as she wiped her hand across her face.

"You're a big deal to me too," she said softly.

It was terrifying to admit that to him . . . that she was falling for him . . . but she couldn't let him say all those things to her, and give nothing back.

Feeling a faint, pained, smile touch his lips, Aaron gave Emily a slow nod.

"I know. And that's why I don't want to do anything to hurt you." He sighed, "even though I know this conversation is hurting you now. But please believe me," he shook his head, "I'm trying to do what's right here. So let me take these few days to sort out my head, and then we'll talk next week."

Emily's gaze briefly fell down to the blanket, before it shifted back up to his again.

"Do you think we can stay friends?" She asked, trying to keep the quiver of pain out of her voice. And for a second she thought she saw Aaron's eyes begin to water, but then he blinked and they looked clear again.

It must have been her imagination.

"I think," he took a breath as his gaze fell, "that is something we can talk about next week." Then his eyes shifted back over to hers.

"Would it be all right if I gave you a goodbye hug?"

That time there was a faint bit of worry in his tone. Because he could see the tears glistening in her eyes, and he didn't want to make this worse for her now.

Worse than he already had, that is.

"Yeah," Emily gave Aaron a watery smile, "you can do that."

Even if he was breaking her heart, it was unlikely that she'd ever deny him such a request. And so she let him pull her close again, and hold her tight.

Almost like he was saving it up.

Then he leaned back to give her a soft, sad, smile.

"I'll be back next week. Probably Tuesday. If I'm not going to be over that day I'll call you that afternoon. But if anything happens," he gave her a look, "if God forbid your fever comes back, or just if you have a horrible day and you want to talk to me, don't hesitate to call, okay?'

"Really," she sniffled, "you're sure?"

"I'm sure," his lips twisted faintly, "I couldn't give you up cold turkey."

Seeing the sad, sweet smile, he received for that truth, he felt the urge to pull her into his arms again. But things like that, were part of what had gotten him into this mess. That was why really needed to step back a bit and figure out what the HELL he was doing with his life. Because with the growing feelings he'd realized that he had for Emily, there was just no way that he could keep showing up in her room every day like everything was status quo.

They'd left status quo in the dust.

All these excuses he'd been making to himself, the 'logical' reasons why he should be allowed to keep a female friend, and how Haley's jealousy was the real problem and not him, yeah, in retrospect, that was all horseshit.

He had been instantly attracted to, and was now falling in love with, another woman.

THAT was the real problem.

And it wasn't a problem that he EVER would have considered was even possible to have. He'd always thought that people who claimed to be in love with more than one person, were flat out liars. They just were looking for a reason to make it okay to have sex with somebody besides their spouse.

But sex had nothing to do with his feelings for Emily.

Yes, he thought she was beautiful, but she'd been lying in a sick bed for most of their time together. Not exactly a situation 'ripe' with the potential build of sexual tension. No, his feelings for her were based on the emotional and the intellectual.

Not the physical.

Really overall they weren't engaging in ANY behavior that could be considered 'amorous.' Well . . . his brow wrinkled as he looked down at Emily's fingers intertwined with his . . . unless hand holding counted. And maybe it did.

Or maybe it did _now_.

Hell . . . he shook his head . . . maybe it had always counted. Maybe it had been a slippery slope from the beginning. Just like the God damn hugs.

All right . . . he let out a breath . . . shit. He needed to leave now before he totally worked himself up into a full tizzy. Because it was impossible to think, objectively, about Emily . . . and his feelings FOR Emily, when her leg was brushing against him, and her hand was cradled in his palm. He just didn't want to leave her.

Which was the reason why he had to go.

So after giving those soft fingers of hers one last light squeeze, he gently placed them down on the bed.

Then he slowly came to his feet.

"Tuesday," he gave a firm nod, "I'll see you on Tuesday. Okay?"

"Yep," Emily sniffed as she wiped the corner of her eye, "okay."

Though she wanted to say something else, she had no idea what that would be. Because the only thought that would come to mind was, '_leave her and be with me instead!_'

But that didn't seem like the most 'mature' approach to a horrifically complicated emotional drama.

So instead she said nothing else as he walked over to the door. And when he reached it, he turned back and raised his hand up.

"Bye." He whispered.

She blew him a kiss.

It wasn't planned, it was just an impulse . . . that other thing that she wanted to say, but couldn't express with words.

And apparently Aaron didn't have any words left either. Because he just nodded to her, as a faint smile touch touched his lips. That was it.

Then he pulled the door shut.

For a second Emily lay there, staring at where he'd last been standing. Then her eyes again began to fill with tears.

_Shit!_

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: I know that you're probably kind of surprised that I let them have 'the talk' so early on. But it's not SO early on actually. It's chapter 15, and they are almost a month into their relationship. However it's defined. But in the last chapter Aaron had finally processed just how much Emily had come to mean to him, and he was going to have to deal with that. And taking in Girl canon of how Aaron always ends up with a more open and truthful relationship with Emily than he ever had with Haley, I decided they would have that here too. He didn't want to lie to her, so he told her the truth. _

_Though I haven't been posting here, I have been sketching out this story for the last few months. I've taken the blueprint out through the end of their calendar year because I have very particular plans for how things go from here. But as the chapter title indicates this is just a 'short' goodbye.' This is not him walking away for good. And I'm going to try to get some momentum going her again, because I've realized that I could theoretically write THIS story, for the rest of my days :) And that's because it's only 1993! If I tried to write their relationship as I envision through the years, from then to now, it would literally be the rest of our lives! So, I think I'm going to wrap it in about one year their time, and then start a second story. Which is good news for you guys because if I can get nice meaty chapters like this one (7000 words, wa hooh!), then we might be able to wrap in about five or six more chapters. A couple of which I've already written out because I wanted to figure out my hook so I wouldn't get stuck. So, another wa, hooh, for that! I won't promise things will go quickly, but I'll try to get another chapter up within the month._

_If you'd like to see Emily's elephant bracelet, it's really quite cool. I put up the picture with the story post on Tumblr._

_And fun side fact here for the section on Emily's finals, I googled to see who the president of Yale was back then, same guy as today! President Levin, appointed in 1993, (the year of the story), been there ever since. I literally huffed to myself, 'oh hey, that's funny,' when I read it, so I figured I'd share my nerd amusement :) _

_Thanks everyone!_


	16. The Land of Confusion

**Author's Note: ** Picking up a bit later in the evening. And this is kind of an introspective chapter for Aaron, but it'll take us where we need to be. And that's what matters :)

* * *

><p><strong>Author Prompt Set #39 (February 2014)<strong>

Author: Stephanie Rowe

Challenge: Date Me Baby, One More Time

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Land of Confusion<strong>

Aaron ended up in Culpeper.

That hadn't been his intended destination when he left Emily's hospital room . . . at the time he'd had no intended destination . . . it was just where the car ended up.

Almost seventy miles away from his home.

Fortunately he'd left the office so early that when he rolled past the _'Culpepper City Limits'_ sign, he was pretty sure that he could still get back to Alexandria before dark. Perhaps not by _dinner_ . . . he sighed . . . but at least before the sun went down.

Hopefully.

Either way, it had already been a long drive just getting that far, and he really wasn't looking forward to now making the reverse loop of the trip. Though as he continued down the main street of that historic old town, looking for a place to turn around, he realized that the one benefit of his lengthy meandering through the back roads of northern Virginia, was that it had given him plenty of time to think. And that's what he'd needed to do. To think about Emily, and Haley . . . his fingers tapped on the steering wheel . . . and really just his life in general.

And whether or not he was happy with it.

Because until Emily had gracelessly stumbled down onto that cold, marble floor, and their fingers had brushed together, he would have said that he was. That his career was going well and that he and Haley had a pretty good marriage. Maybe not a _great_ marriage, but . . . he bit down on his lip . . . at least a good one. Certainly better than some of his college friends, who he knew had already been screwing their secretaries before they'd even reached their second wedding anniversary. _Those _were bad marriages! So obviously by comparison theirs was pretty good! Perhaps at times it had even been great! Now this . . . he tipped his head . . . granted, was obviously _not_ one of those 'great' times.

Or even good ones.

But looking back over their years together, Aaron knew that there had been a clear honeymoon period where Haley had been his whole world. He'd hated to leave her in the mornings and he couldn't wait to get home to her at night.

They'd made love half the week.

So yeah . . . he felt a faint churning in his gut . . . their marriage had definitely seemed pretty great back then. And maybe what they'd had back then, hell maybe even what they had _now_, was as good as it got for anyone.

Maybe the particulars of their marriage were the gold standard.

You found a well suited life partner, and if you were lucky to get six or seven decades, in addition to those middling years of 'content routine,' you might actually get a few early ones of 'Great and Wondrous,' thrown haphazardly into that mix.

His brow wrinkled.

So by that standard, maybe their Great and Wondrous was already long done. Maybe the reality was that the best years of your marriage were always the early ones, and nobody told you that when they were happening, because that's all you got. Which meant that now the rest of their days together would just . . . unfurl. Like an old spool of thread.

The kind were the shiny bits were all already worn away.

No . . . he scowled to himself . . . no, that couldn't be true. Because if it was, Jesus, that was just depressing as hell! To think that all of their 'happy' years were behind them, and now they were just going to have to settle for the ups and downs with no joy ahead. Christ. If that was actually scheduled to be his next sixty years on the planet . . . mediocrity . . . he'd want to fucking kill himself now!

So he'd just have to pray that he was wrong on that point.

Dead wrong.

Hopefully he and Haley did have more of the Great and Wondrous years still coming to them. After all, when he'd spent those summers in Charleston when he was a young boy, his grandparents had seemed pretty happy together.

At least they were in his memories.

Laughing and teasing each other. The way his grandfather's eyes would light up when his grandmother came into the room. The way she would giggle like a young girl when he would whisper something in her ear. And that was when they were in their seventies.

Over fifty years together and still whispering secrets in each others' ears.

He and Haley didn't even do that now . . . they hadn't done that in years.

But for Aaron, after experiencing a childhood with an emotionally abusive father and a physically abusive stepfather . . . and that was abuse directed at both him and his mother . . . simply being in a mature, supportive relationship where neither he nor his wife drank excessively or left cigarette burns on one another, seemed like a real win!

All right, not that his standards were _that_ low, that not possessing the desire to beat the crap out of his spouse was a 'good enough' life. But growing up the way that he'd had, just breaking the cycle of alcoholism and violence had been a big deal to him.

It was a big deal, period.

And Haley was a nice person. Mentally stable (a major bonus coming from his gene pool) and smart, and pretty. She also cooked and cleaned and did the laundry and errands and all of that other traditional 'wifely' stuff that his own mother and grandmother had done, way back in the day. That said . . . and this was a point that had been made to him by many an acquaintance both male and female . . . it was fairly "unusual" in their generation to have a stay at home wife who took care of all that 'house stuff,' (in their case, 'apartment stuff') all on her own.

Yes, fine, it was a little weird.

But it wasn't that _he_ wanted her to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen . . . he'd actually prefer the _exact_ opposite, for her to work, and NEVER get pregnant(!) . . . but that hadn't been what she'd wanted.

Though he did still try to help her out occasionally.

Very, occasionally.

But in his defense, if you had one spouse who spent all day at an office earning a paycheck and another spouse who spent all day NOT at the office, NOT earning any money at all, it was kind of stupid for the money earner to then spend his off duty time going around picking up the groceries or dropping off the dry cleaning.

That would be a very 'un-equitable' split of their collective marital resources.

And their somewhat old fashioned system mostly worked for them. Or at least he'd thought it had. But if he was recognizing this chasm, and disconnect that had formed in some very basic areas, then clearly there was an element of his relationship with Haley that wasn't working for him. And it couldn't just be her refusing to get a job, because if that was a point that had REALLY chafed him, he could have made it a point of conversation.

All right . . . his jaw clenched . . . he had made it a point of conversation on occasion. Not often enough to really be a jerk about it, but enough to make it clear that he would be 'pleased' if she would like to find SOME way to contribute towards the household income. Full time, part-time . . . _any_ of her time, really.

Haley generally waved those insinuations off.

Of course that alone was NOT enough of a reason to even _casually_ consider leaving his wife for another woman . . . but it was a problem. Because when she did it, it was with that hand wave thing and the condescending smile like, 'sure whatever you say honey,' and that did kind of piss him off.

Okay, it kind of pissed him off a LOT!

And having a constant, ongoing, _undercurrent_ of irritation and resentment for your spouse, wasn't really conducive to a 'healthy' relationship.

_But that STILL wasn't a reason to leave your wife_, he reminded himself. There had to be more. And the _more_ was the conclusion he'd been trying to avoid acknowledging, even to himself. His jaw clenched.

Emily.

She was enough.

But even after ruminating on this point for two plus hours in the car, as he turned into the Culpeper Wal-Mart parking lot to make a U-turn home, Aaron still couldn't say exactly why Emily and not any other beautiful woman that had come and gone out of his life over his years with Haley. He'd certainly had female friends in school and female colleagues at work, but he'd never felt any special spark or emotional connection with any of them.

And some of them had been quite attractive!

So what it was that made Emily different, what it was that she _did_ for him, that Haley didn't, he didn't know. There was just something about her, something . . . he bit down on his lip . . . essential, that drew him to her in a way that no other woman ever had. Even his wife.

Even back in the beginning.

And now that Emily had become part of his life, Aaron despised even the _thought_ of cutting her out of it! But he didn't know how the hell he was going to keep her in it! Because loving two women was not really in the cards.

The constant lying to Haley had to stop.

But really even worse than the lying, was his COMPLETE lack of guilt over telling those lies! And that was to him at least (and he tended to believe that Haley would agree if consulted), really the more serious underlying problem here.

Why _didn't _he feel badly about lying to his wife?

He should. Absolutely he should. He wasn't a sociopath. So on a _base_ level, he should feel a degree of guilt and/or shame, over what he'd been doing. But he didn't care about that at all. His conflicts even NOW were about resolving the _logistics_ of the situation (how to keep Emily in his life) than concerns about the _morality _of the situation (cheating on his wife).

And that, that wasn't like him.

It really wasn't. Of course he had his faults, and he would be the first one to make the laundry list of them, but basic 'morality' . . . the simple ability to distinguish good behavior from bad . . . that was not an area where he'd ever felt any deficiency. Which meant . . . Aaron realized just then . . . that somehow his brain didn't process his feelings for Emily as _being_ 'wrong.'

And that just fucked his head up even MORE!

The whole situation was becoming a HUGE, quagmire of shit! And that was completely his fault. Because he knew that if he'd been smarter, he would have set better boundaries for him and Emily to start. Then they wouldn't be in this mess.

Or at least it would be less likely.

But after that initial attraction when they'd first met on the floor of that bank, things had moved so quickly . . . and so STRANGELY(!) . . . that he'd found himself sucked into Emily's world before he'd even consciously processed that he was developing romantic feelings for her.

Everything had seemed so innocent.

Yes, fine . . . he tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel . . . there had been an underlying _protectiveness_ from the beginning, but that hadn't seemed to be coming from a 'romantic' interest. It was simply a reasonable one. Because first she'd been humiliated, and then she'd been in danger, and then she'd been seriously hurt . . . he bit his lip . . . and then she'd gotten sick.

It was just a lot of crap to deal with in a VERY short period of time!

But whatever . . . a scowl crossed his face as he shook his head . . . all of that before was irrelevant really. It was what he was going to do NOW, that mattered. And that was the point . . . the plan . . . that he focused on for the rest of his drive back to the city. And what he decided right around the Fairfax County border, was to give himself a week. One week to 'objectively' . . . if such a word was even applicable in matters of the heart . . . determine just where things stood with his marriage. Because the one thing that his examination of the 'guiltless lying to his wife' had made _crystal_ clear to him, was that there were some very serious issues in their relationship, that he hadn't been facing. And he was pretty sure that those issues were completely separate from the _primary_ issue confronting him at the moment.

How firmly Emily was burrowed under his skin.

That was definitely a point to resolve on its own, but he was standing by his assessment that the recent anomalies with his behavior as it related to Haley . . . lying his ass off, picking fights, being a general dick, etc., etc. . . . had nothing to do with his feelings for Emily. After all, if he was still AS devoted to his wife as he'd been in the beginning, none of that behavior would have _ever_ come into being.

Never.

So his plan, and he was thinking it was a pretty good one . . . the best under the circumstances anyway . . . was to conduct a bit of an experiment. For the next week he would analyze his marriage, and 'explore' his feelings for his wife.

And his wife alone.

And because he REALLY was trying not to be a cheating bastard, that meant that he needed to extend out the 'break' that he'd already set in place with Emily. Earlier he'd told her that he'd be back on Tuesday, but he decided to push that return out to Friday. Now of course he had to actually TELL Emily that he wasn't coming back for a full week, and that was not going to be a pleasant conversation. Because she was likely to assume that he was now just letting her down slowly.

That he would keep pushing off his return visit until she'd 'get the hint' that he didn't want to see her anymore. Or at least that was the fear he had.

And likely the fear that she'd have.

But there wasn't anything really to be done on that point, except give her his word. And he would do that on Monday when he called to tell her that he'd see her on Friday.

So that just left Haley.

And with Haley he decided to go back to the old days. The days of their initial courtship. Movies and dinners . . . but no sex. It might have seemed an odd choice for a long married man . . . or any man. But intellectually he knew that sex always muddied the waters. And when he and Haley had first begun seeing each other, clearly their physical relationship was still in its infancy. There was a little kissing on the first two dates, and a bit of petting on the third and fourth, but they didn't actually have sex until the fifth date. And he had pretty much been smitten with Haley by the time that evening had come about.

Ironically, 'smitten,' was about the stage where he was with Emily, just from holding her hand.

Yeah. And therein lay the problem. So seeing that the feelings he had for Emily now, were the same ones that he'd had in those early days with Haley, this was why he was going to explore his current _emotional _attachment for his wife. Physically, yes, of course he was still attracted to her. Haley was a very attractive woman. Which was why when he finally arrived home that Thursday evening, as he attempted to kiss her hello . . . 'attempted,' because she was QUITE annoyed with him for not getting home until almost eight . . . he realized that short of pissing her off _every_ night(!) (a record he was ironically coming close to reaching simply by accident) it was likely to be somewhat difficult to actively '_romance_' his wife, yet still find ways to avoid having intercourse with her.

Of course sex was easy enough to avoid that first night . . . the annoyance persisted all evening, so he slept next to a very cold shoulder . . . but then the next night, Friday, he knew that he needed to patch things up quickly or the experiment was going to be a complete failure. So he came home with a dozen pink tulips (a dozen red roses would have maxed out their credit card) and told Haley that they were going out to dinner. After she'd prettied up and changed into a slightly too short cocktail dress (one that Aaron did not remember her buying, but was wondering how much had cost), they drove to Dupont Circle and ended up having a very nice meal at a very fancy restaurant.

Even with Haley's three glasses of wine, the bill was still thirty bucks less than the roses would have been.

And with Haley completely tipsy by evening's end, on any other day that would definitely have led to sex.

Haley always wanted to have sex when she was drunk.

So when Aaron finally got her, giggling, up the front stairs and into the apartment, he made sure to let her go down to the bedroom on her own. Then he putzed around in his office until he was sure that she'd passed out cold.

It only took six minutes.

And then the next morning, day three of his experiment . . . a blessing from above!

Haley got her period.

Next to a forty-eight pregnancy scare that they'd had back in '89, that Saturday morning was the HAPPIEST Aaron had _EVER_ been to see a tampon wrapper in the trash!

It was all coming together perfectly.

Or at least that element of the plan was coming together perfectly. The results that he'd started to collect though, they were actually quite alarming. And by the end of that one week experiment, he had learned quite a few things about his marriage that he hadn't expected to learn. Primarily, that it was in real trouble.

He and his wife had almost nothing in common.

And he wasn't talking about hobbies or background . . . because of course after seven years together he was aware of how disparate their upbringings and interests really were . . . but more how their basic core _values_ and plans for the future, had at some point since their wedding, diverged down completely different paths. And he reached that conclusion by really _digging_ in and asking those direct questions. The _'where do you see us in five years_,' type inquiries that Aaron had always thought were obnoxiously trite when posed in job interviews, when instead used for _'marital temperature taking,_' were actually quite useful! They allowed you to determine immediately, and objectively, if you and your spouse were still on the same page with your future goals.

Turned out that he and _his_ spouse, were not.

Not even close. Because Aaron had started his experiment that first night that he got home so late. That was when he got the idea to use the 'five year plan' approach. And so after Haley went to bed in a huff, he'd gone into his office and in the back of an old law school notebook that had a few free pages, he'd written down a series of 'big picture' life questions. And then he sat there for a while giving those questions some thought. Once he'd figured out his own answers to them, he'd scribbled them down, and then locked that battered old green notebook into the bottom drawer of his desk.

He did not want Haley finding it.

In part because he knew just from knowing her, that she would NOT appreciate him doing an evaluation of their marriage like it was a science experiment. She'd be pissed. But also, and this was the bigger worry in her finding his notebook, after he'd finished sorting out his Big Picture Answers, he'd made a pro/con list of his wife's personality quirks and traits. Some of them were obviously, given the nature of his musings, not all that flattering.

Which was why he'd written the whole list in legal shorthand so even if she did manage to stumble over that page, in that notebook, in _that_ drawer, she'd never be able to decipher anything on it.

Also though, just because he felt kind of like a jerk picking his wife apart on that level, (even for a valid reason, it felt petty), he made a matching, 'con' list of his own faults. Not that she'd ever see that array of bullet points either, but when he was done, at least he'd felt a bit less like a schmuck.

Ironically, 'occasionally _acting _like a schmuck,' was on that list!

But back to his bigger list, the Five Year list, those answers, from _his_ perspective (assuming of course that this Emily situation didn't completely derail his marriage all together), had been very easy to scribble out. And that's because they were almost perfectly in line with the life plans that he'd been following since he'd first slipped that gold band onto Haley's finger.

At least they were by his recollection.

He was thinking that in five years, which would be 1998 in the calendar year, he and Haley would probably be a couple years out of the dinky little apartment and instead be living in a luxuriously, (small'ish), two bedroom, starter house somewhere in the median income area of Fairfax County. For his work, he'd either be running his unit at the DOJ, or in the alternative, he would have moved over to the Strike Force and Violent Crimes Unit. This was a potential transfer idea that he'd mentioned to Haley once or twice in the last couple of years.

Usually when one of his current cases was sucking the life out of him, and he started thinking he might need something a bit more interesting to fill the rest of his days.

And if he did transfer, he wasn't too worried about possibly taking a step down in seniority/pay, because he figured that by then Haley would be working part time, probably for some interior design company. Though that admittedly hadn't been her focus in school. She'd gotten her Bachelor's in Architecture, but she'd never taken the exams to get licensed. By senior year her interests had shifted more towards the 'interior aesthetics' of buildings (the colors and fabrics part) than the structural elements.

Which was why Aaron believed his wife had never really settled on a career path.

Her very expensive degree was in a field that no longer held any real interest for her. So she just didn't know what to do with herself. But still, he expected that she'd figure out her career goals sooner or later. And with her thirtieth birthday coming up around the bend, he thought (hoped) that sooner might finally be on the horizon.

So those were his plans.

Haley on the other hand, she had very different plans. And over three or four broken up nights of wine and schmoozing, Aaron was able to casually work his whole series of big picture questions, into after dinner conversation without Haley even noticing.

Generally he waited until she had a half empty drink in her hand, so that way he'd get the unfiltered answers.

And unfiltered answers they most definitely were!

On Saturday he discovered that his wife didn't actually see him working at the DOJ for more than another year. She figured that he'd burn out on government work and that by the time he hit thirty-five, he'd have long moved on to the private sector. Of course with his new big fat private sector paycheck, they'd be living somewhere trendy. Big house. Large backyard. Three to four bedrooms. Maybe in Bethesda.

Apparently they had good schools.

Yeah, it seems that schools were important! Because on _Tuesday_, that was when Aaron found out that they were DEFINITELY having kids! Surprise! Yes, by that mystical thirty-fifth birthday of his, Haley expected that they'd have one child in diapers, and 'hopefully' another one on the way. But even with two kids, and all that extra expense involved with them, still no job for her. She had no interest in working. Ever. She was going to be a stay at home mom for their two or three kids. That came up on Wednesday.

Wednesday was last night.

That was the day he was ready to take another long drive, maybe that time off of a very short pier. Because it was a HELL of a thing to finish going over his life goals, and discover that his wife's five year plan and _his _five year plan diverged at the word, "_house_!" Yes, of course he had been 'aware' that Haley had some interest in him making more money, but seriously, WHAT THE FUCK?! Over that past week in talking to her, _REALLY_ talking to her, it was as though they were complete strangers. She had no understanding of him as a person, or his interests and values.

Now, granted, Aaron would allow that he wasn't the 'chattiest' man on the planet, but he had certainly made his feelings clear on the _reproduction_ front, the _housing_ market, their _finances_, and his utter _CONTEMPT_ for the private sector of DC! So the fact that his wife had basically, essentially listened to EVERY word that he'd EVER said and then decided, "yeah, fuck that, this is what we'll be doing instead," for pretty much EVERY issue that mattered to him, was HORRIFYING! Absolutely horrifying!

Though also on a base level, it was infuriating!

How could this woman that professed to love him, care so little for his well-being, that she'd expect him to compromise everything that he _believed_ in and made his work fulfilling and important, just to allow her a more superficially rewarding life?! Seriously, if she wanted to have that big house in a pricey zip code she needed to get out there and start working HER ass off to get it! His existence in their relationship wasn't just as her fucking BANK account!

And when she had ever said that to him, about him finally getting a "good job" so they could get a "good house," he had almost thrown those exact words in her face. But fortunately he was so STUNNED that he hadn't had a chance to speak before she'd moved on to the next thing.

Which was likely for the best.

Because that fight would have been a VERY ugly one in really nice restaurant. It also most likely would have ended up with them being escorted out by the police. As it was, he still honestly didn't know how the hell he was going to approach this freaking CLUSTERFUCK of bullshit with her, where the resulting screaming match would NOT end up with the police being called! But they HAD to talk! That sentence had never been truer for anyone in their life, than it was in this instance now!

What it came down to . . . at least as far as Aaron had worked out . . . was whether or not Haley truly _WANTED_ all of the things that she'd said she wanted, or if that was some sort of fantasy, 'wish list of bullet items' that she'd rambled out because her inhibitions had been slightly lowered.

But given that on not one of those nights they were talking had she consumed more than three glasses of wine . . . generally two was her limit . . . he wasn't holding out hope that 'drunken ramblings' was going to be the holy grail he needed it to be. So presuming that the things his wife had said to him, were truly her plans for their future, well, then he didn't know what he was going to do.

But moving into a hotel room for a few days seemed like it might be a good (necessary) start to figuring that out.

And he actually decided to have 'the talk' or at least, broach it, on Thursday night. Because he was seeing Emily on Friday afternoon, and when they spoke again, he wanted to at least have SOME indication of where things with Haley really stood. So even if they only got through 'round one' of their fight on Thursday, he'd at least have a better idea of how the battle was going to end.

In counseling or divorce.

Unfortunately on Thursday night, by the time Aaron got home from work and actually pulled into his spot in front of the apartment building, he was DREADING the thought of walking inside! Though in his head, for the last day and a half, he'd been rehearsing what he was going to say, that made it no easier to contemplate actually saying those words aloud to the woman he'd been married to for the last seven years.

Make no mistake, he was about to BLOW UP, his marriage.

So even after he'd turned off the car and taken the key out of the ignition, he sat there for a few minutes working out his opening line. After the hello and the kiss on the cheek, they'd have dinner, and then he'd offer to help with the dishes, and over the dishes, that's when he'd start. He'd tell her that he'd been giving their recent fighting and disconnect some thought, and that by his estimation it was time that they had a serious talk about their future goals as a couple. Clean, straightforward . . . no mention of specific blame on either side.

It seemed as good an opening as any other.

So with at least that one point clear in his mind . . . when to start the conversation . . . he finally took a breath, and got out of the car. Twenty seconds later, he was stepping through his front door. That's when he heard Haley call out cheerfully from the kitchen.

"Hi honey, guess who's here?!"

And he stepped around the corner, with his keys still jangling, to see his wife and her sister sitting at the kitchen table. They had half empty cups of coffee in front of them. And Jessica, though she tried to hide it with a small smile, had clearly been crying. Aaron bit down a sigh.

Well, so much for his evening plans.

But he wasn't going to be rude to sister-in-law, the one member of Haley's family that he actually liked, so he made sure to hide his exasperation over her appearance with a faint smile of his own.

"Hey, Jess." He said while rubbing his hand across his jaw, "so what's going on?"

It was fairly unusual for his sister-in-law to randomly stop in during the middle of the week, but he'd barely gotten out his greeting and inquiry, before Haley had shot him a look. Then she was popping up out of her chair and grabbing his arm.

"Can I talk to you for one second, sweetheart?"

Given that she was dragging him out of the kitchen while saying those words, the question was pretty much rhetorical. But still Aaron let himself be dragged out and down the hall to his bedroom, because it was clear that his wife had some 'news' of her own to share with him. Likely the kind that was going to fuck up his plans, completely.

He rolled his eyes.

_He could NOT catch a break!_

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: For the larger Girl'verse I never wrote anything anywhere about Haley's degree or her fields of interests, so the architecture thing is all new here to Girl fanon. I have no idea if they ever mentioned something for her in canon, (doesn't matter now :)) but I figured interior design seemed as good a fit as any for her. I think that was the field I gave her in Communication Breakdown. But for this story, I thought it seemed plausible that partly why she didn't look for work right out of school, was maybe because she'd gotten a degree that didn't match up with the interests she had by the time she graduated. Which happens. And then she just got comfortable with Hotch working and her not. That happens too._

_Specifics on Aaron's grandparents (who I have mentioned in passing before) are also new to Girl canon. But I liked the idea of expanding on their relationship a bit because I had made in clear in The Hours at least, that their house was his sanctuary when he was growing up. His parents would send him there when his father's drinking got really bad. So to show that they had the kind of 'soul mate' relationship that Aaron isn't sure really exists for anyone, though we know that it does for him too ;)_

_Otherwise, we had to have Aaron really work through all the problems facing his marriage, if he was going to make an informed decision about whether Emily could stay in his life. Jessica was always an intended monkey wrench here, the reason which will become clear next time around :)_

_I actually cut this with a pretty big chunk of scene left. All of their time in the bedroom plus the sketch of later scenes so the next chapter is well developed. Hoping it'll be up this month because we are definitely in the thick of it now. H/P shippers should be very happy with the next one ;)_

_Thanks everyone! And I might have a post elsewhere in the next couple of days. I did get one of my bursts of focus, so I have a bunch of things lined up. Fingers crossed I can get through a few more of them!_


	17. Last Straws

**Author's Note**: Direct continuation. And FYI, it's a messy one :)

* * *

><p><strong>Prompts Set #52 (March 2015)<strong>

Author: Carolyn Brown

Challenge: Life After Wife

* * *

><p><span><strong>Last Straws<strong>

Haley quickly pushed Aaron through the open doorway, before shoving the door shut behind them. Even as he heard the click, Aaron was already turning around. His eyebrow was inching up.

"Why is she here?"

Haley sighed.

"Last night she broke up with that guy she'd been dating the last few months, Brian. Then today she got into a huge fight with my mother about it because mom really liked him and she said that Jessica should apologize and go make-up. And that was kind of the last straw for Jess with mom too. Soooo," Haley rolled her eyes, "after what I gathered was a bit more mutual screaming, Jess stormed out and came here. And so you know now," there was a momentary pause as Haley took a breath, "I already told her that it would be okay if she stayed with us until she got things sorted out."

Feeling his nostrils begin to flare, Aaron looked away for two beats, to try and catch his temper. Then he slowly exhaled.

"How long?" He asked with an outwardly deceptive calm, while his attention stayed focused down on the corner of the bedspread.

There was a catch in the fabric.

"I told her a couple weeks would be fine," Haley answered in the same subdued tone, "because you know, it's going to take a little while for her to find a place, and get everything lined up." Then she paused again . . . apparently she was beginning to read his mood . . . before adding a bit hesitantly.

"Is that going to be a problem for you?"

Aaron's eyes snapped back to hers.

"Is it going to be a problem to have an unexpected open-_ENDED_ houseguest when we have no spare room to put her in?" He responded drily. "Oh no, Haley," he shook his head slowly, with his eyes still locked onto hers, "no, that's not a problem at all."

Seriously, what the freaking HELL?! Yes, he was obviously fine with Jessica spending the night on the couch to let things cool down with their mother . . . their mother was a monster after all . . . but a 'COUPLE _WEEKS_!' Who the hell extends out an invitation like _that_, in a NON emergency situation, before making at least a cursory 'check-in,' with his slash her spouse?!

He sure as hell wouldn't do that to HER!

Actually, just the IDEA of him doing that to her, was laughable! She'd throw a complete fit!

Oh great, and now he could see from the way that Haley's eyes were flashing at him, that she was about to throw a complete fit ANYWAY! Yeah, well, he wasn't having any of _that_ bullshit, tonight! For the first time in many weeks, he was the one with the COMPLETE moral high ground!

And he was God damn well taking it!

"No!" He barked with a sharp wave of his hand, "_you_ are in the wrong here and you God damn well know it, Haley Brooks! So you don't you _EVEN_," he hissed, trying to lower his voice slightly so Jessica wouldn't hear their entire fight . . . the one that had just stopped being about her, "take that self righteous attitude like_ I'm_ the one being an asshole right now! That's _you_!"

The second that the last word left his mouth, Aaron saw his wife's jaw drop. But of course he'd never spoken to her that way before . . . the way he'd actually wanted to. Even when she did something INFURIATING, and she had done that more than once in the past, he always bit down. He always held back.

Because he was so afraid of losing control.

But what she'd just done was such a perfect MICROCOSM of all the shit that he'd been cataloging over the last week. Right up to her not even bothering to downshift to an apologetic _tone_ (not even the apologetic words, just a 'tone'), when she saw that he was upset over what she'd done! No, she immediately got pissed off at _him_ for rightfully being upset with HER!

What kind of bullshit was that?!

And tonight really had been the worst possible time for her to demonstrate yet _again_, her COMPLETE lack of consideration for his feelings, on any issue, that mattered. Not when everything else about the job and the kids and the mythical house, had all already been teetering right there on the edge. Haley had finally pushed him one step too far, and the basic truth of the moment, the truth of her inexcusable behavior, had come tumbling out. She was being an asshole.

That was a fact.

However, two seconds later (after that brief pause for her to stare up at him in shock), the sharp 'slap' he received across his face, made it pretty clear to Aaron that his wife disagreed on that point too.

And as he brought his hand up to rub what he knew from experience, was likely going to become a nice red welt, he heard her spit back, "how _dare_ you speak to me that way! This is my apartment too! And I sure as hell have every right to have guests over when I WANT to have guests over! And _you're_ not going to tell me otherwise!"

"Really," Aaron's eyes flashed as his hand fell from his cheek, "is this your apartment too, Haley? Well," he continued sarcastically, "then could you possibly show me a cancelled check which indicates that you've paid for even ONE thing in _your _apartment, out of money that you earned yourself?"

Okay, even as he was saying it, he knew that was sort of a shitty shot to take. And on any other day, he might even have apologized and taken it back. But . . . his jaw clenched . . . not today. Because today she most definitely had it coming.

Though once again, given the look of shock on her face, it was clear that Haley did not agree.

"What the FUCK is your problem Aaron?!" She screamed at him just before she snatched one of the pillows off the bed and whipped it at his head.

He ducked.

"You come home and start RIPPING into me for no reason!" She continued screeching at dog whistle levels while pacing angrily in a half circle around the room, "talking to me like I'm a fucking GUEST in your house!" Then she stopped as her face sneered with disgust. "And did you feel like a really big man saying that I haven't paid for anything here?! Is that how you actually see our relationship," she snatched up another pillow, "that all the money and everything we own is just YOURS and I'm just some _whore_ that you FUCK a couple times a week?!"

That was the point where she whipped the other pillow at his head . . . Aaron caught it just before it hit his face.

And with that white cotton pillowcase now clenched in his fist, it took everything in him not to hurl it back across the room. But he wasn't going to respond to her violence with his own.

Even if the object he'd be throwing was filled with feathers.

And given that his temper was now beyond boiling, he knew that he needed to leave. Because this fight was getting out of control.

Certainly out of his control.

And yes, all right, he had done his part to escalate things. But . . . his jaw clenched . . . Haley had definitely come back swinging. And like always, with every major argument they'd ever had . . . she found just the right words, to take the lowest road possible.

It was definitely a quality that she'd inherited from her mother.

But whatever, the cause didn't matter. She was what she was . . . and he was what he was.

And what he was at the moment, was at the end of his rope.

So rather than responding to her profane ranting, he just gritted his teeth as he stepped back and moved around her so he could get into the open closet on the far wall. There, he reached up to pull down his travel carry-on from the top shelf.

It was the suitcase that he used when he had weekend conferences out of town . . . the one he'd taken on that trip to Austin.

He started filling it up.

And though Haley immediately started yelling, "what the hell do you . . .?!" he just cut her off.

"I'm not doing anymore of this tonight," he muttered tightly while shoving socks and boxers into the bag, "I'm going to a hotel for a few days. And when I get back," he moved on to pull out a small stack of t-shirts, "we're going to talk about some things that I am not happy with in this marriage. This," his voice tightened as he shot her a dark look over his shoulder, "today, this was so typically you. So wrapped up," his attention shifted back to the dresser so he could get a pair of jeans, "in what you want to do, that you never consider for a second that what I might want something different."

He stood up and moving back over to the closet.

"Or if you do consider it," he continued while grabbing a small handful of ties, "you must dismiss it outright as being unimportant. Because what's _important,_" his voice got dangerously low as he froze for a moment, with his fist clenched, "is always what _you_ want. You want me to quit my job and you want me to buy you a big house that we can't afford, and you want me to give you a station wagon full of kids that I don't want." He shook his head . . . violently. "Not one of those things is going to happen," he hissed while reaching out to snatch two suits and a half dozen dress shirts off the rack . . . he tossed them over his shoulder. "So you think about that," he murmured while stooping down for a pair of sneakers and a second pair of dress shoes, "and if that's what you really want, then you start thinking about whether or not you might have married the wrong man." He slowly stood up, and turned to look at his wife standing behind him . . . she was staring up with wide eyes and an open mouth.

And he dropped the bomb.

"Because I'm starting to think that maybe I might have married the wrong woman."

Those last words were pronounced tightly, but quietly . . . he still trying to keep his anger in check. And to that end, now that he had enough clothes to cover through the weekend, he tipped his head.

"Now please move out of my way."

Though he could easily have nudged Haley aside, with the level of rage he could feel bubbling up at that moment, he didn't trust himself to touch her at all. Not that he would ever strike her no matter how angry he was. But if he was angry _enough_, a 'nudge' could so easily, and unintentionally, turn into a 'shove.'

It was just that ever so slight difference in the amount of pressure exerted.

And he had the horrible feeling that if he attempted to 'nudge' his wife out of his way, that she was likely to go flying across the room. He could almost see it happening.

And that image scared the shit out of him.

Fortunately Haley didn't push back any further. No, after her jaw had snapped shut . . . and she'd attempted to stare him down for a moment . . . her fist clenched. Then she took two steps to the right and snatched the doorknob.

"You better call before you show up here again," she spit out while whipping the door open, but he just shook his head.

"No!" he barked back. "_You_ better stop thinking that you're in charge of me! This is MY apartment, and I'll return to it whenever I damn well please! And that, _sweetheart_," he continued with a dry bitterness, "would be another perfect example of one of the things that I was just referring to with you thinking that what you want, is what matters most. Christ Haley," he scowled as a memory popped into his head, "even for MY birthday, you planned the party that YOU wanted! And then after you set up an evening that anyone who actually CARED about me would know I'd DETEST, you couldn't figure out what my problem was! Do you remember our fight? You actually said that I was being an ungrateful jerk!"

"Wait," Haley cut in with her hand up, and her face twisted in disbelief, "this is about your _birthday_!? You come home screaming at me and packing bags and telling me that suddenly our marriage of seven years is complete SHIT, because I planned a freaking DINNER party?!"

"_No_ Haley," Aaron gritted his teeth, "this is NOT about the fucking BIRTHDAY! Jesus Christ," he shook his head, "even now, you're not listening to me!"

Realizing that he was on the verge of exploding again . . . and possibly spewing up some of the darkness that he was trying SO hard to keep pushed down . . . he spun around on his heel.

Further discussion was pointless . . . and dangerous. Really, the longer he stayed, the worse the situation was going to be by the time he left.

So after he stopped first into his office to grab his glasses and his calendar, and then afterwards into the bathroom to throw his contact case and some basic toiletries into his shaving kit, he headed for the front door.

Haley didn't stop screaming at him through the entire three plus minute process.

She actually didn't stop screaming until his feet had hit the front steps.

"FUCK YOU AARON!" was the last thing he heard before the door slammed shut behind him. And as he walked down the front steps, dragging along enough clothes to last him through the weekend, he briefly wondered if she'd try to change the locks on him.

Eh . . . his nose twitched . . . she'd think about it, she'd actually probably get as far as looking up the locksmith's number, but she wouldn't do it. Not a chance. And he knew that, because that was one thing that he always could do well.

Read other people.

And he knew that right now his wife was inside their apartment, swearing a blue streak, while she looked around for something of his to destroy. Fortunately he wasn't particularly sentimental, so there wasn't much that he actually cared about her destroying anyway.

Though . . . he paused for a second at the end of the stone walk to look back over his shoulder . . . there was one thing that he cared about. That small album of pictures his mother had given him of his father when he was a boy.

He'd be pretty upset if Haley did something to those.

No . . . he shook his head slightly as he pushed the thought aside . . . no, she wouldn't go that far. And if she did go that far, well . . . he pulled the car keys out of his pocket . . . then clearly their marriage was done either way.

Because that would not be a forgivable act.

So with that cheery thought of how many ugly ways this could all end, he threw his bag and his clothes into the backseat. Then he stood there by the side of the car for a moment, trying to remember if he'd forgotten anything that he actually really needed to take with him.

Ah shit . . . he winced . . . his briefcase.

When he'd first walked inside, he'd dropped it by the door like he always did. And he was too busy trying to keep from dropping his shirts when he walked out, to notice it still sitting there.

Damn it . . . he bit down a groan as he turned around . . . he was going to have to go back inside. But he knew that bitching to himself wasn't going to make the problem go away, so he sucked in a breath, (and his pride) and started back up the pavement.

He'd just reached the bottom of stairs, when the door opened.

His head snapped up just in time to see Jessica stepping outside . . . holding his leather satchel in her hand.

"I just noticed this," she said softly while holding it out towards him, "and I thought you might need it."

"Yes," he slowly exhaled as he took it from her hand, "yes, I do. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she murmured just before her eyes started to well up. "Um, this isn't my fault is it? You know, because I asked if I could stay with you guys for a little bit? Because if I'd thought for even a . . ."

"No," Aaron quickly cut her off before she even finished the question, "no, Jess, it's nothing to do with you. Really." He sighed, "I'm very sorry that you were here to see, and hear, all," he simultaneously waved his hand and rolled his eyes, "that. But honestly, I'd planned to talk to Haley tonight anyway. The only difference between the planned conversation and the one that we had, is that the planned one probably would have started out a little quieter," he finished with a wry smile, "but it still would have ended just as loudly."

And that was the bitch of it. All it had taken was one good spark to burn down the house.

Literally.

"Okay well, um," Jessica crossed her arm to nervously rub her shoulder, "I just want you guys to work this out as quickly as possible, and I don't want to take sides, but uh," she shot a skittish look over her shoulder . . . probably listening for Haley, "if there's anything else you forgot, you know I'm working at George Mason now in Admissions, so just give me a call there, okay?"

Aaron's eyes crinkled faintly.

"Okay," he nodded, "thanks Jess. That's nice of you."

"Yeah well," she bit down on her lip, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I couldn't really help it once the door opened. And I don't know what's going on with you guys but I know that Haley has a little bit of um," she shot another quick glance over her shoulder, "Mom in her," her darted back to his, "and I know this because growing up sharing a room with her was not always a picnic. But just please remember," Jess gave him a sad smile, "she doesn't do it on purpose. She just, well that's just the way she is."

"Yeah," Hotch huffed bitterly, "I know. And that's kind of the problem. But," his expression brightened slightly as he reached up to pat his sister-in-law's arm . . . it wasn't right to drag her into this, "that's not for you to worry about. Everything will work out the way it's supposed to. So," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "I'll see you later."

And he turned and started down the path again.

He'd only taken three steps before he heard Jessica call out softly from behind him.

"Please don't divorce her Aaron."

And he turned back to see his sister-in-law was crying. He bit his lip.

Shit.

"You're the only one that stands up to Mom," Jessica choked out as her voice cracked, "and I don't know what I'll do if you leave!"

Feeling a tug of sympathy and affection for this girl who though may not have been blood, was still his family, Aaron walked back up to take her hand.

"You already left that house Jess," he whispered, "and that was the hard part. Now just remember why you left, and don't go back." He squeezed her hand, "and if you need help, a reference or a co-sign for something on an apartment or a loan, I'll do that for you. I promise, okay? We've been family for a long time, so no matter what happens with me and Haley, I'll always be around if you need me."

She sniffled.

"Okay, thank you." She gave him a watery smile, "that makes me feel better."

"Yeah, well," his lip quirked up faintly, "us sane ones do have to stick together."

She snorted.

"Yeah," she brought the back of her hand up to her mouth to smother her chuckle, "that we do."

And now feeling a little better about himself for letting Jessica know that he wasn't going to leave her to the wolves of familial insanity, after a final squeeze of her fingers, Aaron let her go.

That time when he turned around, he kept on walking.

And he didn't look back.

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: Long note mostly about the whys of the above._

_But first, funny thing, I REALLY enjoyed writing Jessica here! So much so, that I actually got a very solid idea to write a bit for her in another 'verse. Either A (in Life & Such) or over in C. And you all know that the show is dead to me, so my idea is just something I came up with that fit in my Girl'verse, not the network's version of her life :) But seriously, outside of a mention of her existence at Jack's birthday, I don't know why I've never thought to include her before. Maybe because she mostly faded away after season one, and my stories all (with the exception of this one :)) start at season 2. Because that's when Emily arrives! But it was still remiss of me to never include her anywhere having a direct interaction with Hotch, because really, after decades long marriages end, in-laws don't go away. Spouses might get divorced, but family is the history. Especially when there are kids, and everyone is still in the same area. Trust me, I've got a few 'Ex-In-Laws,' and it's like they never left :)_

_And though H and H's fight might have seemed pretty 'AAAAAH! OMG! THIS IS GETTING UGLY!' I think it was clear from canon that when the cracks in their marriage did appear, things got pretty loud and nasty, pretty fast. Last month I'd actually pulled some screenshots from season 2 when they were having a fight in their bedroom about him leaving for another case and they went from zero to 'AAAAH!' pretty quickly, minus the profanities for network television, of course :) And Haley, she REALLY had the indignant, sneer thing down pat in that scene. And I'm on record as not overall being, a Haley Hater, but I do think she was the type of person that could dig that up, pretty fast when needed. Also, if you'd like to see Haley's face IN that fight scene, I put the picture up with the posting on my Tumblr :)_

_Aaron was kind of a jerk with the shot at Haley about not owning anything, but he was upset :) And I think we can all agree, short of a dire emergency/tragedy, inviting a weeks long houseguest without clearing it with your spouse first (especially if said houseguest has to sleep in the living room of your tiny apartment) really is a dick move. But 'dick move' wasn't actually a phrase we used back in the 90s. Thank God for the evolution of language! :) From his remark though, I saw the fight going two ways. Either you're 'shocked and devastated,' pleading with your husband to find out why he would say such a terrible thing (which is how I might write that scene with Emily). Otherwise, you're 'shocked and angry' and come back swinging hard because you think he's just being a jerk for no good reason. Again, per canon and their de-evolution there, I saw Haley as the type to get pissed and come back swinging. _

_And yes, final yay (for the H/P shippers) he's out of the house! At least temporarily. I actually have the majority of the next chapter written, 4000 words so far, wa hooh, covering the rest of his evening. You might imagine where he's going to end up :) So if my brain continues to be cooperative (I have been writing constantly for weeks, fingers crossed that lasts), and all you kids are good :) then it MIGHT be up by next weekend. I want to get my Horses chapter proofed first though. I've been wanting to put that up for the last three days and I just got hooked in this fight scene instead. So I must focus there before I can come back here. But hopefully you all at least enjoyed the read, we had! _

_Thanks!_


	18. Beginning Again

**Author's Note**: Picking up a little later in the evening.

* * *

><p><strong>Prompt Set #71 (April 2015)<strong>

Show: Nashville

Challenge: I Can't Keep Away From You

* * *

><p><span><strong>Beginning Again<strong>

Aaron dropped his bags down onto the bedspread with a sigh.

After leaving his apartment in Virginia, he'd driven over the Key Bridge with the intent of just checking into the first hotel he saw, that he could afford on a government lawyer's salary.

Which basically ruled out everything in downtown Georgetown.

Fortunately though, while waiting at a light on M Street, grinding his teeth at the recent, vexing, turns in his marriage, he remembered that there was a Hyatt Regency a few blocks over. And he knew that because his office sometimes put up out of town witnesses there.

They had a REALLY good government rate.

Which, under ordinary circumstances, would be great news for both Aaron and his credit card. But for his _current _circumstances, in that he needed the hotel room for EXTREMELY personal reasons, a fabulous government rate really did nothing special for him, at all. But still, the Hyatt was part of a respected hotel chain. It was also close to his office and far away from his wife, so for his present needs, those points alone were good enough for him to reserve a room there from that Thursday night through to Tuesday morning.

He figured that by early next week, he'd have had ample opportunity to cool his temper and reassess, in a more _objective_ manner, what his next steps should be in regards to his marriage and future living arrangements. Because as things stood at _that_ moment, while he was unpacking his hastily packed travel suitcase in a strange hotel room in the middle of the city, he had ZERO desire to go back to his apartment, or his wife. And actually those two decisions were closely linked, because the apartment was just too fucking SMALL! Seriously, how the hell was he going to live in a four room unit with a woman who was, at present, one of his LEAST favorite people on the planet?!

He just needed some God damn space!

But to that end, hopefully by Tuesday . . . five days out . . . this new animosity towards his wife would have tempered some, and maybe he could find a way of going back to that shoebox with the paper thin walls, again. Still though, he knew that even if his marriage _could_ be put back on track, there was a LONG road between where their relationship was now, and where it would need to be for them to _re_attain any semblance of genuine contentment and happiness in the future. And he honestly wasn't even sure if that was a future he still _wanted_.

The one with Haley, that is.

That was sort of 'step three' in his marital assessment for the week. Now that he'd pinpointed the general issues in his marriage, and had . . . he rolled his eyes . . . 'shared' his grievances with his wife regarding said issues, he had to decide if it was worth it to even try and work things out. A month ago, if such a hypothetical scenario like that had been posed to him, he would have said of course. He loved his wife.

He'd do whatever it took to save their relationship.

But back then he'd had a different view of Haley . . . and a different view of their future. Yes, he did obviously still care, strongly, for his wife. That wasn't a switch you could just flip off. But if you suddenly find out that the person you were once head over heels in love with, no longer possessed the same core values or qualities, or even affection and _respect_ for YOU her spouse, that she had once had back in the beginning of your relationship, is that love really still there?

Or had he just been living a lie?

Yeah . . . he simultaneous scowled and shook his head . . . that was the point that was really sticking in his craw. What a fool he'd been to not have seen all of those changes until now. But at least his blinders in that area had come off, and agitated though he was when he tried to envision the stress and upheavals ahead, Aaron was ready to start figuring out those next, complicated, steps that had to come. And to that end, as he finished hanging up the last of his now slightly wrinkled dress shirts in the closet, he knew it was time to go visit a friend.

Emily.

All week he'd been missing her, and wanting to talk to her, but forcing himself to keep his distance so he could focus on his feelings for Haley alone. And he'd done that, and now that was done. It was time to get back to the woman who had so recently become the 'other woman,' in his life. Of course, given that Emily was now _definitively_ the 'other woman,' his feelings for her were basically just as messy and layered as his feelings were for Haley. Though the key difference there being that the thought of seeing Emily again raised a nervous excitement in his stomach, while the thought of seeing Haley again just gave him a headache.

So yeah . . . he gave a bitter snort as he unbuckled his belt . . . that was kind of a telling development all by itself.

For the moment though, all he wanted to do was get out of that hotel room, and over to the hospital. So after quickly changing out of his suit and dress shirt, and into a pair of blue jeans with just a plain white t-shirt, he grabbed his wallet and hotel key off the dresser, and headed out to go retrieve his car.

One of the bellhops had taken it away twenty minutes earlier.

Fortunately it only took two minutes to get it back . . . he'd warned the guy he'd be leaving again shortly, so they'd parked it right at the front of the garage . . . and headed off down Constitution.

Aaron was actually about halfway to the hospital when he realized that he was going to be showing up there empty handed. And after a seven day break, that just would not do at all. Of course previously his gifts for Emily were pretty much restricted to milkshakes and cheeseburgers, both of which would probably still be good options on their own, but on that night, after so many days away, he wanted something special.

What he really wanted to do was bring her flowers.

And that's when he remembered, (with a faint burst of excitement), that flowers actually _were_ allowed now! And he knew this for sure, because when he'd tried to call Emily's room on Tuesday to tell her that he needed to push out the break period until the end of the week, he'd discovered that she'd been moved out of the ICU the day before. A surprise which was, though initially _quite_ alarming . . . she wasn't where he'd _left_ her(!) . . . actually was great news. It meant that A) she was out of danger and B), that her recovery had progressed to the point where she'd been transferred over to Neurology to begin physical and occupational therapy. Those steps would all be with the goal of hopefully being able to discharge her from the hospital within the next two weeks.

Aaron had learned all of this from Nurse Jolene.

She'd been very informative. Though she'd also told him that the ICU nurses would be _extremely_ disappointed, emphasis on the guilt soaked, "_extremely_," if he did not stop in to say goodbye to them before Emily was discharged from the hospital. That was the point in the conversation where Aaron realized, yet again, that it was quite clear the entire unit continued to assume that he and Emily were married. And apparently when he'd stopped showing up to visit, Emily had told them that he was on a business trip.

A decision he did not blame her for, one bit.

Because when Jolene brought that point up again, God knew that_ he_ had not been in the mood to get into the disaster that was the REALITY of his life! So he'd just said yes, he'd been away and now he was back. And that he of course promised to stop in sometime next week to say goodbye.

It was a promise he intended to keep.

And when he did, he was thinking about maybe bringing the medical staff pastry or chocolates. Just a small thank you of some kind to acknowledge the outstanding care that they had given to Emily. And yes, the fact that he did feel SO indebted to those people for helping her get well, was yet another tick in the 'falling in love with the new girl' column. But of course that was a train already WELL out of the station. More to the point at the moment though . . . he huffed out a puff of air to get himself back on track . . . those activities were all for next week.

As to _this_ week, once Jolene had shared those updates with him on Emily's condition, Aaron was able to get a gracious transfer back to the switchboard so the operator could track down Emily's new hospital room. As his luck would have it though, when they finally rang her room . . . she'd been out.

Probably in one of her new therapy sessions, was his assumption.

But whatever the reason for her absence, all three times he had called for her that afternoon, the operator said that there was no answer in the room. And not wanting to have Emily get back and just be waiting for him to show up when he wasn't going to be in that night, after the third call, he'd had to suffice with just leaving her a message. He'd explained that something important had come up to delay his return, but that he promised he'd be over to see her on Friday. But that she should still call him if she needed anything in the meantime.

Aaron.

At the time, and under the circumstances, that message had seemed perfectly fine. But thinking about it in retrospect, he was now seeing it as kind of a shitty, non-apologetic, message to leave. He really hadn't felt comfortable giving the switchboard woman any more information than he had though, which was why he'd been so 'impersonal' in the information transfer. And Emily _hadn't _called him, so he was assuming (hoping) that was a good thing. That maybe she was so focused now on her therapy and having an end game to get out of the hospital, that she hadn't even had the TIME to be disappointed in him for completely abandoning her.

Yeah . . . he sighed . . . that was in all likelihood, complete bullshit.

He'd made a promise to come back earlier in the week, and he'd broken that promise. And more egregiously, he'd left her all alone with no visitors for a whole SEVEN days! So he did in fact now feel like a real jerk for not at least attempting to call her again on Wednesday to apologize like he should have the day before. In his defense on that point though, he'd been so wrapped up with Haley and the rapid deterioration of what he had previously believed was a happy, relatively stable, relationship, he hadn't been able to step back and see his behavior for what it was.

Bad.

So yeah, basically he was about as disconnected in his _new _relationship, as he was in his old one. He rolled his eyes.

Great.

Regardless, that did at least give him an idea on the type of flowers he wanted to get for Emily. Roses. A big fat bouquet of them. And as luck would have it, he remembered that there was a florist shop less than a block away from the hospital. So after he'd parked in his usual spot around the corner from the GWUH entrance, he double-timed the two minute walk down 23rd Street.

From there it only took him about five minutes inside the florist shop itself. And that was because he walked in the door to see a cold case FULL of roses! Buckets of them. And though he did know that Emily liked the color red . . . it had come up in general conversation . . . he also knew that buying her red roses was a BAD idea.

They would send a very particular 'intent' vibe, that he was not ready to be sending.

But seeing the adjacent buckets of American Beauties in pink and yellow, he knew that he'd found the building blocks of his bouquet.

He had no idea if those colors meant anything special, but as he plucked out four blooms of each color . . . a full half dozen of each would have broken the bank . . . he knew that the shades would make Emily happy. His eyes crinkled.

They looked like Spring.

So after he'd pulled together, and paid for, his colorful bouquet . . . eight thorn stripped roses, interspersed with a few matching hydrangeas all wrapped up in crinkly green paper because the florist said he had to . . . he continued on to the hospital. And even with what had happened with Haley and the potentially 'marriage ending' fight, walking back up that street, he could feel a spring in his step and a lightness in his heart.

Anticipation.

Hmph . . . his jaw twisted . . . when was the last time he'd felt that emotion just going home to see Haley?

It was a question Aaron continued to ponder as he made his way through the lobby, and over to the elevator bank. By the time the car arrived, he had his answer.

He couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember the last time he was 'excited' to see his wife. It was another revelation that both surprised, and bothered him. But he didn't want to get bogged back down in that negativity now.

Not when he was so close to turning his evening, hell his whole _WEEK_, around.

So when he stepped off the elevator up on the fifth floor, he refocused his thoughts on the visit at hand. And to that end, as he started down the corridor, he realized that he had arrived on the Neurology ward during 'proper' visiting hours.

On a floor where people actually _showed up_ to visit!

Which, oddly enough, made him feel a little strange. Because he was walking down a new corridor, and seeing a lot of new people. It was a bit disconcerting. But still, as with his time visiting in the ICU, he tried to be polite to everyone by sharing a nod hello as he passed by them.

Most people responded in kind.

And while that was happening on the 'outside,' in his head, Aaron was counting along the room numbers on either side of the brightly lit corridor. It was a pretty big unit. At least three times over as large as the ICU. So it wasn't until he'd reached the far end of the second corridor, that he arrived at the room he was looking for.

23F.

The door was closed.

It was then, as he stood there staring at the shiny brass door lever in front of him, that for the first time Aaron started to feel a bit of true apprehension about just showing up the way that he was. A day early and, well . . . he bit his lip . . . separated. Sort of. His brow scrunched.

Maybe.

Bottom line though, was he going to tell Emily about the huge fight that he'd had with Haley? And how he wasn't sure if he was going to go back to that apartment?

Ever.

Those were big questions, huge questions really, that he hadn't actually given even the SLIGHTEST consideration to, on the entire ride over! He'd just been so happy at the thought of seeing Emily again, that he hadn't really considered what he was going to say to her when he did. But obviously with things still completely up in the air Haley'wise, he couldn't make any 'promises' or 'commitments' to Emily regarding his intentions towards _her_. That would be . . . he rolled his eyes . . . SO inappropriate!

So what had changed since the last time he'd been to the hospital?

While he pondered that thought, Aaron found himself swallowing as he slumped back against the door. Because nothing had changed. Nothing had changed at all. Not in the permanent sense anyway.

His gaze snapped down to the bouquet of roses in his hand.

No . . . he took a breath . . . wait, that wasn't true. Things _had_ changed. He had left Haley. Maybe not in the legal sense, but he had made ultimatums. And he was out of the apartment. And that was a big step. A huge one.

Because he'd never done that before.

So yeah . . . he slowly exhaled . . . okay. Things _were_ different now. By some degrees anyway. And most big changes came about by degrees.

That's how continents were moved.

So with his courage now refortified . . . and not wanting his brain to have the chance to think anymore about the matter . . . Aaron took another breath, and quickly raised his fist.

He knocked twice, hard, before reaching out with his free hand to press down on the brass lever.

It didn't take much pressure to push the door back. And even as it was opening, he was already calling out.

"Emily, it's Aaron. Are you in here?"

But she wasn't.

In fact . . . his eyes tracked rapidly around the room . . . now that he was there, he wasn't sure if she was even staying in that room at all. Though the lights were on, the place was spotless. And unlike Emily's room over in the ICU, there was nothing personal out anywhere that he could see. Hell, even the bed was made! His spirits began to fall.

Crap.

He must have written down the wrong room number.

And now feeling like a complete idiot, Aaron began fumbling in his pocket for the slip of paper where he'd written down the new contact information he'd received from the switchboard operator. But that was when he heard a surprising creak.

It was another door.

His head snapped up to see Emily in her robe, stepping out of the bathroom, and pushing her IV.

She froze when she saw him.

"Aaron," her eyes widened in surprise as her fingers clenched around the metal pole, "I wasn't expecting you today."

"Yeah," his lip quirked up in a wistful smile, "I wasn't expecting me today either." Then he took a step further inside the room. "Is it okay though? You know," he bit his lip, "that I'm here. Because I um," he swallowed, "well I missed you."

Feeling her heart clench with both fear and hope . . . this was not the result she had expected from Aaron's week away . . . Emily shuffled another step forward.

"Yeah?" She asked cautiously, her wide eyes locked onto his. "You did?"

He walked closer.

"I did," he brought the bouquet up and held it out, "and I'm sorry we didn't speak earlier in the week, but I brought you these. I wasn't sure what your favorite flower was but uh," he cleared his throat, "they kind of reminded me of you." His eyes crinkled, "they're cheerful."

"Oh," Emily bit her lip as she reached out for the bouquet, "they're so beautiful." She looked up at him with a bright smile.

"They look like Spring!"

The last man who had brought her even a single flower had been her senior prom date . . . that had been four years ago. And it was a wilted carnation.

This was so MUCH better!

"Yeah," Aaron huffed faintly at Emily's words, "that's what I thought too."

And when she tipped her head down to breathe in the aroma of the roses, he found himself starting to reach out to touch her shoulder . . . but then he pulled his hand back.

Not yet.

But then a moment later, when she looked back up at him again . . . still with that soft, happy, smile, he knew that he needed to start this conversation off right.

Or at least start it off with the truth.

So his gaze bounced away from Emily's pretty face and instead to a spot up and over her shoulder . . . it was a fly speck on the wall.

"My wife and I had a fight tonight," he whispered, still staring at that dark smudge, "a really big one. And when it was done, I packed a bag and moved into a hotel." His gaze snapped back down to see the look of shock on Emily's face.

Shocking the women in his life seemed to be par for the course that evening.

"I can't say though," he continued softly, "if that move is permanent yet or not. But I still wanted you to know . . . things are different now."

So yeah, apparently he'd made his decision about whether or not to completely spill his guts.

It was happening!

Emily blinked once right before her eyes filled with tears.

"Please tell me that this isn't my fault, Aaron," she asked breathlessly, "because I didn't want to mess up your life," she shook her head violently, "anymore than you wanted to mess up mine."

God, this was _unbelievable_, news! And though she couldn't deny that part of her had maybe dreamed that he _might_ leave his wife to be with her, she hadn't actually let herself believe that he _would_! And now that he was standing there in front of her, she felt horribly guilty.

And ashamed.

Like she'd crashed into his life and somehow brought a wrecking ball with her.

Though when she saw Aaron's expression soften, just before he reached out to touch her cheek, that guilt and tension was pushed back some. And a little flutter went through her stomach.

Then she saw him slowly shake his head.

"No Emily," Aaron's lips pursed, "no, this isn't your fault at all. Since I've been away I've really been scrutinizing the state of my marriage, and uh," his voice started to get husky as his hand fell down, "I found so many more cracks in it than I'd realized were there. And if you don't mind, I would actually," he cleared his throat, "very much like to talk to you about that, and the fight, and what it might mean for uh," he gestured back and forth between them, "you and me."

Given how pissed off he'd been all night, it was somewhat surprising how much emotional he was feeling at that moment. But of course all of the anger that he'd been feeling towards Haley, it had been fed by pain too.

Finding out that your marriage was built on quicksand, hurt like hell.

Feeling one of those guilt ridden tears begin to slip down her cheek . . . she hated to see him so upset . . . Emily pulled her hand off the IV pole to quickly wipe the moisture from her skin.

"Yes, of course Aaron," she answered softly as she clutched the pole again, "of course we can talk. Do you want to," she tipped her head over to gesture towards the visitor's chair, "sit down? Or . . ."

"Um actually," he cut in gently, "before we do that, I was wondering if maybe I could give you a hug?" His mouth twisted in a faint smile, "it's been kind of a lousy night."

"Oh right," she bit down on her cheek, "I'll bet it has." Then she took her hand off the pole to reach out for him.

"Come here."

Aaron let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he murmured, unable to properly express how much such a relatively small act, meant to him at that moment. So instead he opted to reach out and take her fingers on one hand and the roses she was holding from the other.

The latter he turned to place down on the end of the bed.

Then he turned back, reaching over to slide Emily's IV pole a little closer . . . he didn't want her tubes ripping out . . . before he pulled Emily herself into his arms.

As she settled against his chest with soft sigh, his eyes fell shut.

It was the first time that he'd hugged her when they were both standing up. It was strange how much more intimate it felt having her whole body pressed against his. He sighed.

And how much he really did not want to let her go.

Then he heard Emily murmur against his throat, "I'm really glad I'd gotten up to go to the bathroom," and he huffed faintly.

"Yeah," he rubbed his hand down her back, feeling the rumbled fleece of her robe tickling his palm, "I'm really glad you did too."

And after another beat, he whispered in her ear.

"Are you actually supposed to be up? Is that okay now?"

That point had just occurred to him . . . that maybe he should be putting her back to bed.

"Yeah," Emily's cheek brushed against Aaron's t-shirt as her fingers curled in the soft white cotton, "I have a lot more freedom in this ward. Though I still can't leave the room by myself, I am allowed to move around in here as long as I keep the IV pole with me for balance." Then she tipped her head back to look up at him with a faint smile, "but I guess you make a pretty good substitute there."

Though he knew that she was just kidding, Aaron couldn't stop himself from the answer that immediately slipped off his tongue.

"I won't let you fall," he let out on a faint sigh as he brushed his fingers along her cheek, "I promise."

Then he saw her eyes crinkle as a faint blush touched her skin.

"You know I like it when you touch me that way," she whispered, "it makes me feel special."

"You are special Emily," Aaron gave her a weary smile, "that is kind of the problem."

Seeing the blush on her cheeks then deepen as her gaze fell down to the floor, Aaron realized that he might be putting a little too much on her, a little too fast.

And though he didn't want to let her go, not yet, he tried to think of something a bit more innocuous to say.

Something to take the growing intensity out of the moment.

"Have you eaten?" Was the question that he settled on, while tapping his fingers on the small of her back.

And then he felt Emily shifting to look up and over to the clock on the wall.

"Not yet," Emily tipped her head back to see Aaron's face, "but they should be around with the trays anytime now. If you're hungry I can share my tater tots with you."

Aaron's eyes crinkled.

"That sounds nice. But actually," his eyebrow quirked up faintly, "I could go get us something to eat." He tipped his head, "you know, if you wanted something besides tater tots."

It was nice being back with her like this, just being able to talk to her, and touch her the way that he wanted to.

The way that he wouldn't have dared to just a few weeks earlier.

"Oh, yes please," Emily nodded happily, "my dad was here almost every day you were gone, but," she pouted slightly, "he always came mid-afternoon, which was smack dab between meal times. So I did get some good snacks from him, but no real food."

There were actually two big bags of regular M&Ms, and one can of cheesy Pringles, now hidden in the bottom of her travel bag, tucked away in the closet. Mother had originally brought the bag in with fresh toiletries for her to use over in the ICU, and then once Emily had moved to Neuro, and her dietary restrictions had been removed, her dad had started bringing her snacks and hiding them in there. He said he didn't want anyone stealing them while she was in physical therapy. Yeah, dad didn't trust anyone, anywhere.

Even a floor full of people with head injuries.

"Your dad was here?" Aaron asked in surprise, "all week?"

That was kind of shocking. Though he could see from the way Emily's eyes lit up when she nodded back, that the visit had at least been a pleasant one.

"Yeah, he's in town for the month so," her lip quirked up, "he put me on his calendar. Regular visit every day from two to three." Her voice faded a bit as her eyes dropped down.

"It's been nice."

It had been nice, truly. It had also been the most quantitative 'quality time' that she'd spent with her dad since the last time she was in the hospital, seven years earlier.

She was really hoping that in the future they could find another, less scar inducing, way to 'bond.'

Feeling Aaron's fingers begin to brush along her jaw, Emily's head snapped up.

"You okay?" He asked with a worried eyebrow. And she quickly nodded back.

"Yeah, yeah, just thinking for a second. So um," she blinked, "back to your main question about dinner, maybe," she looked up hopefully, "deli? The food over here is a little better than the ICU, at least it's not mush, but I've been craving a pastrami sandwich all week."

Aaron's lip quirked up.

"Deli it is." Then his grasp on her body shifted so that his left arm slipped down slightly and cinched around her waist.

"So," he looked around the room before his gaze shifted back to her face, "do you want me to help you into bed? Or," he tipped his head to the left, "to that chair over there?"

Unlike over in the ICU where the visitor chairs were hard and purely functional, in here (though they still had those visitors' chairs too) they also had a padded recliner as well.

It was probably to encourage the patient to get up out of bed and move around the room a bit.

And he could tell from the way that Emily was staring over at the blue leather chair, that she was leaning towards the seat in front of the television.

"That one?" He asked with a light tap to her hip. And she nodded.

"Yes, please." Then she looked up at him with a faint pout. "I know I should go back to bed, but I'm so sick of lying around. Every day since I've been over here, as soon as I wake up, even if I don't have much energy yet, the first thing I do is hobble out of bed and move over to the chair." Her nose wrinkled, "it feels less pathetic than just lying around like a lump."

"Emily, you're not pathetic," Aaron tsked as he started walking her, and her IV pole, across the small room, "your body is still healing. But you'll be out of here before you know it." He stopped in front of the chair, "Jolene told me," he started easing her down into the seat, "that the goal is to have you home within two weeks of starting therapy, and it's already been four days, right?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "I guess." Then, realizing that she sounded kind of morose, she added with a weary smile. "Sorry, just you know," she flapped her hand, "it's been a long month in here."

"I know," his nose scrunched, "I'm sorry."

"Thanks," she huffed with a squeeze of his fingers. Then her eyes bounced away from his and back over to the bed. "Before you go," she looked up at him, "could you bring me my flowers please?" Her lips twitched as she brought one hand up in a tiny princess wave. "I want to play Miss America while you're gone."

Aaron started to chuckle as he turned to walk back over to the bed. But then, feeling a surge of happiness in his heart, he stopped short.

"You know," he turned around with a soft smile, "I really have missed you this week."

"Yeah," she shot him a wink, "I missed you too."

* * *

><p><em>AN 2: There are two, maybe three chapters left here. _

_Edit: So, adding more here because there was a point raised in a review, that I acknowledged I should have made reference to in a note here. So yes, Hotch's behavior in this chapter is a few inches over the line of Hotch'ai elsewhere in the Girl'verse, and canon. But that is DELIBERATE. In part because he is MUCH younger than canon Hotch and I see him as being more impetuous at a younger age, but more important to the point, because he *is* younger I think he would make mistakes in judgment that older Hotch would not make. We all do. Especially when it comes to relationships. And THAT is the endgame, and element of his character, which will be addressed before this story wraps. So please be patient with him, and the story. If you're still pissed at him when I'm done telling the tale that I'm telling, we can all discuss it then :)_


End file.
